


Venatori Scum

by Zingymabob



Series: AU Tales from Dragon Age [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Calpernia not Samson, Dorian wasn't recruited at Redcliffe, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Flirting, M/M, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Venatori Dorian, Violence, no samson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 81,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zingymabob/pseuds/Zingymabob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian chose to join the Venatori alongside his tutor Alexius. When Alexius is captured by the inquisition at Redcliffe, Dorian is given a group of Venatori recruits for a mission to attack Skyhold in an attempt to rescue his mentor and to kill the inquisitor. But what will happen when he is left abandoned by his fellow Venatori and comes face to face with the man he has been ordered to kill?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Edge of Belief

**Author's Note:**

> The plot basically follows on from Here Lies the Abyss but before Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. The inquisitor still travelled back in time, but did it alone. This story is quite AU but loosely follows the plot of inquisition as far as major events go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and his group are camping in the cold mountains by Skyhold.

The sharp ice cold wind blows violently against Dorian, ruffling his hair and tossing his robes around as he stands as a dark figure against the cold grey of the mountains. The wind seeps through his skin to bite at his bones and he shivers violently as he hugs his arms to his chest. He is used to the tropical warmth of the North and oh how he longs to be back there. He can see himself in his mind’s eye, basking in the midday sun with a book in one hand and a glass of rich Tevinter wine in the other. But alas, here he is instead, stood in the freezing south with nothing but clothes and his staff to his name. A lot can change in the year.

The cold of the south is unbearable. It seems to suck everything away; his heat, his happiness, his looks and his sanity. Soon there will be nothing left to take and he will stand as a lonely icicle, frozen to the rocky mountainside until someone comes to rescue him. Back home, he had never been one for fantasizing and daydreaming, but now he often found his mind wandering, picturing a strapping and ridiculously good-looking man on horseback riding into their camp with the mission to sweep Dorian away from it all and then they make love in a cottage right next to a roaring log fire.

The cold was driving him insane! He had been in the wilderness of the mountains for far too long and his mind was beginning to become as barbaric as the wildlife. Surely he couldn’t sink so low as to think of bedding a man in his current state. It had been three days since he had last washed and months since he had last had a bar of soap. Surely he could wait until he returned to Tevinter to be swept off his feet by a man. In Tevinter he was always clean and well-dressed with impeccable hair and a taste for fine dining. Here in the south, he was a wind-blown mess who smelled of sweat and old stew. Dirt had dug its way deep into his pores and he was constantly finding dust and bugs in unsavoury places, not to mention his appearance had rapidly declined as the cold air of the mountains took its hold. His hands and feet were rough and chapped and he had crow’s feet forming by his eyes from squinting through the icy wind. Even when he returned, or rather if, he knew no amount of Tevinter-made lotions and creams would be able to heal the damage. He was even beginning to lose the deep bronze colour of his skin which was paling slightly in the absence of the sun.

Dorian watches from his rocky perch, his body shaking without his permission against the harsh weather in the rocky valley. He is so tempted to use magic, to hold a flame close to his chest to rid the frosty chill that has made its home in his bones. There is a voice in the back of his head tempting him. It only has to be for a moment, it says, what are the chances that they will see a flicker of flame from this distance at midday? But he shakes away the stray thought for fear that it is not his own. Demons prey on the weak and he cannot afford to be weak, not now, not when his mission is so important.

“Master Pavus.” Dorian shakes himself free of his lingering thoughts as he snaps his attention to an approaching recruit. “Master Pavus?” The recruit repeats, rubbing his gloved hands together nervously as he walks up to stand beside the Altus.

“Yes, Lucien.” He replies with a sigh, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to settle it back into place.

“Some of the recruits want to know if you will allow them to hunt, they promise that they will keep out of the sights of the fortress and will be quiet.” He replies quickly and quietly, clearly a little nervous.

Dorian looks at the young boy. He is tall and lean, with the beginnings of facial hair growing around his jaw and speckling his upper lip. He can’t be more than sixteen. Dorian mentally curses himself for allowing Corypheus to send someone so young into his group, there mission was the most difficult after all and most if not all of them could die out here and he can’t help but feel responsible. His status back in Tevinter and relationship with fellow Venatori Alexius had meant that Dorian quickly climbed the ranks and was now officially in Corypheus’ inner circle. This meant that he had been given endless resources and apprentices to study the effects of red lyrium and its effect on the fade rifts. That had been his only mission for many months, even getting him out of the battle in Haven, that was until Alexius had failed in his. Corypheus’ had decided to take it out on him, Dorian being the closest thing to family that was within Corypheus’ reach. Now here he was, stood on the mountains gazing down in the stronghold that holds the heart of the inquisition itself. It was a suicide mission if ever there had been one.

The recruit shifts awkwardly beside him waiting for him to respond and Dorian glances back at the cave where the other recruits have set up their camp for the night. All twelve of them sit slumped around the fire, getting as close to the flames as they can without setting themselves on fire. Dorian sighs as he watches them, noting the shadows under their eyes and the hollows beginning to form in their cheeks. He wouldn't wish these conditions upon his worst enemy. Who is he to deny them a moment to themselves?

He turns back to look out over the mountains. “If that is what they wish to do Lucien, then they can. Maker knows we all could do with some more food, try to see if you can find some spices while you’re at it. I don’t think I can stomach any more of that tasteless stew we serve.” Dorian replies finally, the thought of having to eat the same watered down stew again making his stomach turn.

“Of course Master Pavus.” Replies the young recruit with a nod and he turns to head back to camp before Dorian stops him by holding onto the young boys arm with his free hand.

“Just make sure they return before it begins to get dark. We don’t want Skyhold to see your little light shows after all.” He says with a gentle quirk of his lips.

“Yes, Master Pavus.”

Dorian sighs internally and stops the recruit once more, “Please Lucien, there's no such need for such formalities with me, please call me Dorian.”

“Yes, Master - um -  Dorian?” Says the recruit, pulling a face as the name falls uncomfortably from his mouth.

“Close enough.” Dorian replies with a tired smile and the recruit turns away from the Altus and runs over to join his fellow recruits by the campfire.

Dorian watches from his post as the men jump to their feet as he delivers the news,  they are clearly just as eager to leave this dump as Dorian is.  It’s hard enough being in the deep dark south, but they are also limited to their use of magic. The south have very different opinions of magic and, even with the circles breaking down, Dorian was very aware that a Tevinter mage would still stick out like a sore thumb. He’s no fool, he knows the mages among them are going out there to cast and not to hunt; his own magic itches below his skin desperate to be released, but he knows he can’t. They are too close to enemy lines to even think about casting so much as a spark from their fingertips. Hopefully they will stay out of sight, after all a restless mage is a risky mage. If he sees so much as a wisp of flame coming from their direction, he will remove their rations for a week. Well, no he won't, but he will certainly give them the more tasteless portions of stew.

Tomorrow they will be moving within sight of the patrols and they will have to be even more careful than they are being already. It is going to be hard, magic isn’t something that can be suppressed for long and especially with emotions running high in a strange and new environment, it was becoming harder than ever to keep himself in check, and Dorian is one of the more talented, if not the most talented, mage in their little band. There had already been a few close calls, including a particularly nasty fight due to a stray fireball where some of them had discovered the true power of a southern Templar for the first time in their life. If they didn’t need it in case of an attack he would have considered putting them all on mage bane until they reached the fortress. But then again he is not his father, he would never want to take away something which is a part of them. Even if it is for their own good.

 

Dorian sits watching the clouds move across the sky, appreciating the moment of silence when he notices a warmth against his chest and he clasps his hand against it in surprise as it begins to burn warmer and warmer. He peels back his cloak to reveal his sending crystal glowing bright blue. He lets a little magic flow into it in order to activate the call and lets it drop back against his chest.

“Dorian.” a tired female voice emanates softly from the crystal, each word causing the blue light to flicker slightly.

“Calpernia.” Dorian replies, sitting with his head resting in his hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“How is your mission going?” She asks. Skip to the formalities and get straight to the point, if Dorian had any doubts that the voice belonged to Calpernia, then they had just been squashed.

“Well, you can tell his highness that-“

“I’m not asking on behalf of the Elder one.” She interrupts, “I am asking because I am concerned for your mission.”

Dorian pauses, his brain working quickly. Calpernia is concerned? Calpernia is the strongest woman he knows, fighting for Tevinter’s return to triumph, well technically that is what they are all here to do, but she has just that little bit more passion for the cause. Calpernia is never concerned, or if she is she never expresses it.

“Concerned, Calpernia? Has the Elder one finally lost his marbles and imploded the Imperium?”

“You would do well not to talk about him like that Dorian.” She warns sharply “It’s just –“  Calpernia goes quiet but he can hear her breathing gently through the crystal so he knows the connection has not broken. She takes a deep breath and continues “Did you know I am to become his vessel.”

“Vessel!” Dorian yells in a shocked outburst, he quickly clasps his hand over his mouth as his voice echoes loudly through the rocky valley. “A vessel for what?”

“I can’t tell you.” She replies.

“Calpernia, you cannot let him do this.” He hisses into the crystal.  
  
“Dorian, before you accidentally set something on fire, please let me finish. The Elder one has discovered a means to allow himself to physically walk the fade, to do this he needs a vessel to absorb the knowledge of the ancient elves.”

“What are you being a vessel for Calpernia?” Dorian demands impatiently. The woman was normally intelligent so surely she could look past her blind commitment to the wannabe god and see how dangerous all of this sounds.

“All I know is that I am to be a vessel for something which belonged to the Ancient elves. He's sending me to the Arbour Wilds soon.” She replies and Dorian finds himself growling slightly in the back of his throat, something about this really doesn’t seem right.

“The ancient elves? Why would Corypheus possibly think that the ancient elves can help his cause?” He says with a hint of derision.

“I don’t know, but he trusts me to harbour all of the knowledge. Imagine it Dorian.” She says, struggling to hide the excitement which is clearly bubbling below the surface. "I will absorb all of the knowledge necessary for us to win this fight. I can help him become a god!"

“And you believe this to be an honour yes?” Dorian says with dry disbelief, trying to keep back all of the reasons why he thinks that this is the worst idea she has ever had. Calpernia is not a woman you want to question if you want to keep your balls intact.

“I – Yes, it is the right thing to do, when he regains his god status he can grant Tevinter what it needs to be reborn and I will have been a crucial part of it. My name will be written in the legends.” Dorian can hear her voice beginning to take on that glassy and false quality that reminds Dorian of one who has been possessed. Maybe she has been taken over by a pride demon, that would at least be a logical explanation as to why his fellow Venatori has completely lost her mind. Becoming a vessel is basically signing your life away to become someone else’s slave, and in this case she would become the slave of a crazy tainted fallen god. Then again, come to think of it, isn’t that what they have already become? They already do the gods bidding without question and without any reward other than a promise which seems too good to be palpable.

 “Yes, yes you are a gods lackey, your name will be mentioned once or twice in a book or two. But if this is all so wonderful then why are you so concerned about me and my mission?” Dorian sighs audibly and pinches his nose, trying to fight off a stress headache that he can feel brewing behind his eyes.

The crystal goes quiet.

“You still with me Calpernia?”

“If I am to be his vessel,” She says in a quiet whisper, “then why is he sending his best men to rescue Alexius? Do you think he wants to replace me, Dorian?”

Dorian looks down at the sending crystal with a mixture of concern and sympathy. The poor woman. She doesn’t mind that she is about to become a vessel for ancient and unknown magic, no, she is more concerned that Corypheus will replace her with Dorian or maybe even Alexius should his mission succeed.

“Oh my dear, Corypheus certainly won’t want Alexius to be his vessel after his spectacular failure at Redcliffe, he only wants Alexius back for his speciality in time magic.”

Plus he also knows that in Alexius he has a very powerful mage that he can manipulate through the means of his son. Poor, poor Felix, not only was the man dying back in Tevinter, but he was dying with the knowledge that his father is disgraced in the eyes of the rest of Thedas and has been captured by the inquisition, and is possibly being tortured.

“Just remember your main goal is to kill the inquisitor, not to rescue Alexius. Only rescue him if it is easy enough to do so. We cannot risk our goal for the life of one man.”

"Calpernia," Dorian says with gritted teeth, "the main reason I accepted this mission was to rescue my former mentor. He is an important member of the Venatori and I will rescue him no matter what."

"That is not your primary objective Dorian. What if the man has been tortured and is no longer valuable to our cause. We don't have time to look after weak and broken men, and the inquisition might have broken him."

Dorian freezes with his hands on the crystal as images begin to abuse the backs of his eyelids. He can see Alexius bloodied and bruised on a cold stone floor as a boot crashes against his face. He watches them use a burning hot poker to brand his skin and he can hear his mentors cries as they break his fingers one by one. But what if they are using magic? What if they are using necromancy? The horrors you can make people see are indescribable. Dorian doesn’t mind using the magic on his own enemies but to see it used on someone he knew, someone he loved like a father, it made him feel sick. He couldn’t leave him behind. He wouldn’t.

“Dorian!” The crystal glowed brightly as Calpernia’s voice crackled loudly from the crystal. Dorian snapped from his waking nightmare to see sparks of electricity lighting the tips of his fingers.

“Dorian are you still there?”

“What is so important about killing the inquisitor anyway?” Dorian asks quietly.

“He has stolen from Corypheus-“

“Yes, but what does **killing** him achieve?” Dorian responds, struggling to keep his voice quiet. So what if the man had stolen the anchor, killing him wouldn’t get it back, would it?

“Corypheus has given you a mission, Dorian, remember your place.” Calpernia replies, her voice passive and cold.

Dorian clenches his hand around the crystal and rips it from his neck, tearing the lace cable violently. He looks down at the crystal his face screwed up in rage. This woman and her god would make him leave his mentor, and a fellow Venatori, for the priority of killing one man.

“Dorian, once you have killed the inquisitor I want you to call me and then we can head to the temple. I want you to be there when I become the vessel, I need someone there I can trust. I'm sure Corypheus will want to reward you. We can both be heroes, Dorian!” Calpernia states with raw pride.

Dorian’s hands begin to shake as he holds the crystal at arms length like it is something disgusting. He can’t kill a man and leave another to die, he just can’t do it.

“Dorian?” Calpernia demands impatiently.

Dorian’s knuckles are white from clenching the crystal, the skin of his palm digging into its sharp edges. The pain helps to ground him, he doesn’t want this, he just wanted to help Tevinter and to help Alexius. But now Alexius is gone and he is alone with his thoughts and he knows. He knows it’s wrong, following Corypheus is wrong, but what else can he do?

“Dorian, Corypheus will not be pleased if you fail. He has already threatened to pay your father and mother a visit if –“

“Let him have them.” Dorian growls into the crystal before slamming it shut and flinging it into the valley below with a hoarse scream, expelling a storm of pure electrical energy in frustration. His legs give way beneath him and he falls to his knees, sharp pain shooting through his kneecaps as he falls onto the rocky surface. His black hair falls over his eyes and one hand grasps on to his staff for support as he gasps for breath. His chest feels too tight, like it is about to collapse in on itself as the threat continues to ring in his ears. As much as he hated his father, he loved him too. He doesn't have much left in this world and even though he left his parents on bad terms he doesn't want to remain in their bad graces forever. One day he wants to return to Tevinter and make amends. If they die that is yet another thing he can't fix.

 

He crawls over to the edge of the cliff and takes great gulps of air. Breathe Dorian, he curses himself in frustration. What would the Imperium think if they saw Magister Pavus’ only son shaking with fear?

But that’s the question really, what would the Imperium think of anything he is doing? If the Venatori won, would he be allowed to return home? They have Tevinter’s best interests at heart after all. Don’t they?

He feels so lost, the Venatori had provided an escape from a life of obligation, a life where he was passed from one responsibility to another where he wasn’t allowed to make any decisions for himself. The Venatori want change, and so does Dorian, so why is it only just dawning on him that the changes they want are drastically different.

Right now his priority is to rescue Alexius, and if he manages to kill the inquisitor while doing so, then that’s how it goes. But there is a small thought niggling at the back of his mind and it has been there since he was assigned the mission, gradually growing louder and louder and now it is becoming extremely difficult to ignore. He doesn’t want to kill the inquisitor. He has had to kill too many people already, can he add another to the list. From the whispers he has heard going around, the man is a legend and has saved countless lives and inspired whole nations to fight them. He sounds like more of a god than Corypheus. Not to mention the anchor. It shouldn’t be possible for a human to possess the anchor, Corypheus said so himself in the weeks following Haven. Does he really want to lead a dozen men to their deaths, all for a cause he isn’t sure he believes in.

Right now, Dorian wishes he’d just stayed in Tevinter, swaddled in his cocoon of ignorance as his life plays out around him like an unhappy theatrical play. No, he thinks to himself, he was right to leave Tevinter, he was right to follow Alexius, and he was right to join the Venatori and if he wants to return to them and live, then he has to kill the inquisitor. It’s kill or be killed.

“Master Pavus!” A voice yells and Dorian stands to attention, smoothing his moustache and wiping at the corners of his eyes to ensure that, at least to his recruits, he looks just like his normal confident self.

“Master Pavus!” The young recruit repeats, her voice echoing loudly as she barrels into the camp breathing heavily. The woman looks around, her eyes wide and wild and she quickly spots Dorian at his post and runs towards the Altus, fear painted on her face.

“Master Pavus, a mount has been spotted coming in this direction.” She says between gulps of air.

Dorian's blood freezes. They can’t be caught, not now, not when they were so close he thinks to himself as he watches the recruit approach. Seeing the fear on the woman's face, he can't doubt her news and he can already feel defeat beginning to settle in his stomach.

“How many?” He asks her as calmly as he can manage, panic will only make it worse.

“Just one.” She says, following closely behind Dorian as he paces towards the edge of the cliff to look down at the valley.

“Are you sure?” Dorian demands, searching the landscape carefully for any sign of movement but sees nothing.

The woman falters nervously, “Well we only saw one.”

“Yes, but could there have been more?”

“Well, I suppose he could just be a scout out ahead of the rest. So, yes there could be more.”

Dorian takes a deep breath before turning to face the recruit. “Go back to the rest of our men, tell them to split into groups of two or three and go in different directions, they will expect us to retreat so we move forwards and to the sides. No one is to use magic and we will meet back here at sunrise tomorrow if all is clear.”

The woman looks at Dorian dumbfounded and nods, slowly turning towards the direction she came from.

“Oh, and Livia, be careful.” He says, giving the young mage a small smile of encouragement before turning back to face the fortress.

If anyone was coming, they were coming because they had seen his magic he thinks cursing himself. His lack of control had put them all in danger, how ashamed his father would be.


	2. Something's on the Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theodore goes to quite a length to avoid inquisitorial business and in doing so spots something strange.

Theodore Trevelyan sits at the table across from the ex Magister and taps his fingers rhythmically on its surface, waiting for the man to talk.

“Come on Alexius," he says breaking the awkward silence, "we all know that you are not a bad man. You don't have to serve Corypheus anymore, you can help us instead. You can help save the world and help us defeat him.” he says running one hand roughly through his straggly white hair in quiet frustration.

"He could have saved my son." The Magister says weakly.

"But for what price?" Theodore asks gently. "When you sent me into the future, I saw what the world would look like if Corypheus succeeds. It's not pretty. Rifts and demons everywhere, red lyrium growing inside humans. It was horrible. So, let's say he keeps his promise and manages to remove the blight from your son, he probably is still in the same amount of danger."

The Magister doesn’t reply, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the chains that are clamped tightly around his wrists. It didn’t take long after his arrest for the man to drop his confident façade and his face is visibly haggard and empty. This is a broken man, but Theodore knows he needs to get through to him. He still has a chance at redemption despite everything he has done.

"Please. Help us." Pleads Theodore, reaching forwards to put a comforting hand on Alexius' arm, but the Magister shrugs him off weakly.

“I have nothing to say to you until I can see my son.” Says the Magister, his voice thick as it catches in the back of his throat.

Theodore winces slightly, Felix had told them he would get in touch when he got back to Tevinter but it has been months and they still haven’t received word from him. He knew the boy was suffering from the blight, and after months of silence, he couldn’t help but think that he passed during his journey home.

“We have tried to contact Felix multiple times but no one seems to have been able to track him down.” Theodore says, deciding to keep his worst fears to himself.

 "He won't return for me,” Alexius replies, “He is probably ashamed of me, he won't want to see me ever again."

"Do you know of anything that may convince him to come here if we do here from him?" Theodore asks but the only reply he receives is a blank stare from Alexius. After an hour of talking, mainly on Theodore’s part, it is becoming evident that he's not going to get anything more from the man today. Theodore stands with a resigned sigh and moves towards the door.

“I’ll come back tomorrow to check in on how you are doing if you need anything talk to Helisima. She’s tranquil but she knows where we keep all of our magical supplies and research.”

Theodore opens the door to the tiny tower room and moves to leave but stops and turns to face the magister, his face pinched in one of sympathy and regret. “I promise Gereon, that if we hear from your son, we will tell you. I know that he may not have much time left, and for that I am sorry” he says softly. He takes a deep breath and turns away from the Magister, leaving the man to his thoughts.

Theodore had told the Magister the truth when he said that they have been trying their hardest to track down his son. Felix was a brave young man and had been a great asset to the inquisition, going against both his father and the Venatori to help them.

After rescuing the rebel mages, Venatori forces had overwhelmed Theo and his companions in Redcliffe castle and they had had to flee. Theodore had shouted at Felix to find them when it was safe later at Skyhold but the man had never shown. A week later he received word from one of Leliana’s scouts that Felix was in a carriage back to Tevinter. Theodore had told them to relay a message to Felix about his father, but they lost his trail and none of their agents in the cities across Tevinter have reported back that a man Named Felix Alexius has arrived.

He had worked with Helisima night and day, researching cures for the blight just in case the man returned to Skyhold instead of Tevinter, but after 3 weeks with no word Theodore quickly lost faith that he would ever see the man again. He knows that Alexius needs closure with his son and without that, he is most likely never going to help them with their cause.

Theodore closes the door behind him and takes a steadying breath, propping himself up against the nearby railing. This was heavy stuff, just another duty wonderful duty of being the inquisitor, he thinks to himself as he looks down at Solas' office below where he can see the elf scanning through the papers littering his desk.

Theodore smiles to himself and closes his eyes, letting the general hustle and bustle of Skyhold wash over him. Who’d have ever thought that the buzzing of activity could calm a man, but for Theodore Trevelyan, it was the quiet that stressed him. Quiet brought fear and with fear often comes danger. Being alone while being surrounded by sound, that was the world he liked to escape to. A nice bubble where he can forget about having to save the world, just for a moment.

“Have you seen the inquisitor?” And pop, the bubble is burst. Theodore sighs quietly before peering slowly over the banister to see Cullen stood before Solas, his arms crossed in front of him impatiently as he waits for the elf to look up from his papers. It is clear that neither particularly enjoy being in the others company.

 “I think he is with the Magister.” Solas replies after an unnecessarily drawn out pause and he flashes the commander his best false smile before returning his attention to his papers

“Thank you, Solas.” Cullen says politely, giving a short bow of his head before heading towards the stairwell.

Theodore looks around in panic, a meeting with his supervisors is really the last thing he wants to do right now. After the events at Adamant and the loss of the warden Alistair, his advisors had given everyone a few days to themselves. The mood had been particularly low and defeated and Theodore, in particular, had been hit hard. Adamant was the first time he felt that he truly hated his position as the inquisitor. To sacrifice a man in the fade, knowing that he will inevitably die, no one should have that much power. Add to that the truth that he was not the Herald of Andraste, something he never really believed in anyway, but was simply a fool who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. What right did he have to lead something as important as the inquisition?

The horrors of the fade clung to all that had entered, they all had that look in their eyes, the look of someone who wanted to forget. Bull had spent the week after his return being hit with a stick by his chargers, each taking it in turn to beat the fear out of him. Solas was still writing down his experiences in journals and had taken to hounding Bull, Sera and the Theodore himself for their accounts of the events in the fade. Sera had simply shot arrow after arrow at her bedroom door which has had to be replaced twice now. It’s safe to say that they had all been affected by the fade.

Theodore shrinks against the wall as he hears the familiar clank of Cullen’s armour approaching from the stairwell. It seems their little respite is over, but Theodore really wishes it wasn't. They can't send him out if they can't find him, he thinks to himself quickly, looking around quickly for a place to hide. His eyes land on a nearby door by the side of a set of bookcases and he runs over to it, trying to keep his footsteps as silent as possible. He tests the door handle and feels a rush of happiness when it clicks quietly and the door swings open. He's never been inside this particular room before but in this moment he doesn't really care and quickly slips inside just as he hears Cullen’s boots hit the final step.

Theodore holds his breath as he listens through the door and sighs in relief as the footsteps move past without pausing. Cullen’s a great person, he really is, but he is one of the last people he wants to see right now.

The room he has entered is dusty and unused and similar in size to the room they are currently holding Alexius is in, except this one has a window and a rusty bedpost. A thick layer of dust coats the floor, and areas of the walls have crumbled so that the wind whistles through the cobweb clogged crevices in the stone wall. Other than that the room seems relatively cozy. There is a ledge by the window perfect for people to sit and read, and the small window looks out upon the grounds of Skyhold and the mountains beyond. With a few touches here and there the inquisitor can see it being perfect as his new hiding place.

Theo looks out at the mountains beyond and for a moment he can feel every ounce of the weight that lays on his shoulders. Every person in this fortress and many more all across Thedas are relying on him despite the fact that he has no clue what he is doing.

They had appointed him to his position under the belief that he was Andraste’s chosen. Theodore had never really believed he was Andraste’s chosen, but with everything that had happened after he had woken up in Haven, even he had begun to question if his circumstance wasn't the work of a higher power. But it wasn't. He wasn't special. He was a joke and a fraud with nothing but sheer luck on his side. It wasn’t him they needed but the anchor, surely they could have given the role of the inquisitor to someone with more experience. Cassandra certainly seemed capable of ruling, even if she was a bit intimidating and her tactics were a little bull-headed at times. Leliana would also be a decent option, though she often went for the most bloodthirsty solutions to problems. Cullen was the same, except instead of using stealth and assassins he used brute force, and Josephine just didn’t want the role, she felt that she was more useful without an official title, it made people more likely to approach her apparently. So here he is, leader of the inquisitor, bumbling his way through his duties, praying daily that his decisions won’t backfire and cause something bad to happen, like the end of the world.

To be honest, the fact that he has seen what a future without him looks like is the only thing that is keeping him going; in a world without him, or more accurately in a world without the anchor, Corypheus would win and the world would become the green tinged hellish landscape that often haunts his nightmares.

He wants to run, he really does, but at this point, he can only really see two futures for himself: die trying to save the world, or run and die with it.

Theodore gazes out of the window, feeling worn down and weary when he spots it. An explosion of electricity arcs through the sky from somewhere high up in the mountains. He watches as it quickly disappears without a trace and squints his eyes to try and see if there was anything at its source but he can’t see anything. He looks down at the grounds below to see if any of the guards had noticed it, but no one was shouting out in alarm, or gathering together a hunting party as everyone else scurried to the confines of the stronghold. Had he imagined it then?

He watches the mountain for a moment, searching for any sign of something off. What if Corypheus is planning a sneak attack, or maybe it’s someone in distress, or another rift has opened nearby. The anchor isn’t reacting so that’s a good sign, but there are lots of the people within Skyhold, soldiers, craftsmen, refugees and people recovering from injury and illness, the last thing they need is for their new home to be destroyed from another attack.

Theodore runs to the door and flings it open before swiftly vaulting the railing to land solidly on Solas’ table much to the elf’s disgust. He runs from the room before Solas can tell him Cullen was looking for him.

He makes it to the main hall, pushing past several nobles and guards who are vying for his attention and grabs his staff which is propped up against the table near Varric who just gives him a small wave.

He runs to the stables, ignoring all requests and quickly unhooks his Chestnut Fereldan Forder, mounts it and, with a quick click of his mouth, gallops out of the gates. The guards move out of the way shocked and a couple shout at him to come back but he doesn’t stop. He needs to find the source of that explosion, he has no time to wait around for someone to accompany him.

 The wind whips him from side to side and he squints ahead as he rides towards the crevice where he saw the explosion.  He pauses just before the rock and ties his mount to a nearby rock, withdrawing his staff from the saddle before stepping into a clearing. Someone was definitely here.

The area is the perfect location to camp, the large flat area covered by rocks on all sides provides the perfect cover. There is an open mouth cave at the far end where a white plume of smoke rises steadily from the dying embers of a fire. Along the rock line, there are some torn remains of tents which look like they have been destroyed by the wind.

Theodore moves in slowly, the camp looks not long abandoned, maybe they knew he was coming and fled. But who was camping so close to Skyhold? He approaches the fire; there are bowls and spoons littered around, and a scorched joint of meat lays among the embers. He puts his hand to the embers and feels the familiar buzz which signalled remnant magic. So there was a mage among this group, he thinks to himself, which means it is either a rebel mage group travelling to Skyhold or a group of Venatori. He really hopes it is the former, knowing that the Venatori had got this close to Skyhold without being spotted was a scary, scary thought.


	3. Test of Stealth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian hides as the inquisitor and his men enter their camp

Dorian watches the man dismount his horse from his sheltered perch situated high above camp. The first thing he notices about the mysterious man is his shock of white hair which takes on a slightly golden hue in the light of the setting sun. He would be jealous of the man’s hair if it were not for the style it was arranged in which, to put it kindly, seemed to be arranged in the style of a bird’s nest. Dorian hopes that this particular style was caused by the wind and is not the man’s actual hairstyle. The man is tall and slim and is dressed in a dark leathery jacket with dark material trousers tucked in to thick boots with a fur lining. Dorian would be jealous of the mans clothes, if the colour of his shirt, a hideous plaidweave yellow, wasn’t so repulsive. Then again, he is clearly dressed much more appropriately for the weather than Dorian was, who has lived in his thickest cloak ever since arriving as none of his other outfits provide enough heat protection. Funnily enough high Tevinter fashion isn’t exactly conducive to staying warm in a cold environment and right now if you were to ask him what he’d prefer to be warm or fashionable, then for the first time in his life he would probably say warm. Wearing plaidweave is a little too far though.

He watches as the man reaches back and unbuckles a staff from the saddle of his mount before walking forward slowly, his staff held out in front of him defensively. The way he holds it, shoulders firmly squared with one hand held aloft, it was a tell-tale sign that Dorian is dealing with a southern circle trained mage. Who is this man and why is he walking through the mountains near Skyhold? He clearly isn’t a soldier on patrol, so who is he?

Dorian ducks his head down slightly as the man begins to search the camp, kicking aside the material of the wind-destroyed tents which is strewn across the ground. Could he be a mage who the inquisition has recruited as a guard? Dorian knows that the inquisition took in the mages as their allies after Alexius had failed in Redcliffe, so it is a possibility. Then again, surely if they were a guard they would have come with an entire entourage and not on their own. The man is a mage and mages are treated quite differently in the South. Even though the inquisition did take the mages from the Venatori  at Redcliffe as their allies, he can’t imagine that the southerners would allow a mage to wander outside of Skyhold unmonitored. Maybe he hasn’t come from Skyhold, but there aren’t any signs of civilisation for miles in all directions so, unless he is travelling towards Skyhold, it is very unlikely he came from elsewhere.

“Hello?” Calls the young man, the tone of his voice low and rich even through the harsh winds.

Dorian freezes in place, holding his breath even though he knows that the wind will probably cover most sounds that he makes.

“Hello?” The man calls again, still moving among the tents as he shifts the material aside with the blade of his staff.

Suddenly the man stops, his whole body tensing as the sound of approaching hooves can be heard in the distance.

Dorian hides further behind his rock praying that whoever is coming just moves on by. By the sound of the hooves, there are a lot of them, much more than the usual patrolling party and Dorian can already feel his heart sinking even before he sees the 12 armoured men on horseback enter the clearing.

“Inquisitor?” He hears the chorus of men yell out and Dorian’s head snaps up. Inquisitor? Could this man really be the inquisitor? The inquisitor that he has been sent to kill? The leader of the inquisition who captured Alexius at Redcliffe and is possibly subjecting to him to horrific torture, that inquisitor?

He watches the man carefully as the guards approach him, all twelve of them dismounting to stand to attention in a line. It is, this peculiar white-haired mage is the inquisitor!

“We were ordered by Commander Cullen to follow you Ser. It is too dangerous for you to go out alone.” Says one of the soldiers stepping forwards, the leader of the small band of guards by the looks of it.

“Yes, yes, the world is a dangerous place and Andraste chose me to be it’s saviour, I know, I know. But can a man not have one moment to himself?” He replies bitterly, with a frown that even Dorian would not want to mess with. It was strangely reminiscent of a frown his mother would give, and these men were treading in dangerous territory.

The guard looks at the man unperturbed, “No offence Ser, but there are plenty of places where you can be alone **within** Skyhold.”

“You’d think that wouldn’t you.” The man replies sarcastically, glaring daggers at the assembly of guards who are all staring at their feet apart from the one at the head of the group who doesn’t seem put out at all.

“Lady Cassandra insists that we check up on you regularly, what with the target on your head because of,” he pauses to make a motion towards the man’s hand which flickers briefly with an eerie green light, “that.”

Of course, how hadn’t Dorian noticed? Tales of the inquisitor don’t tend to mention his appearance, despite the fact that his white hair would be a dead giveaway, but they do tell of his glowing green hand.

The inquisitor sighs loudly. "Yes but surely knocking when I'm in my private quarters isn’t such a hard request to follow." He mutters under his breath.

"We needed to ensure that there weren't any intruders holding you against your will Ser. We check on you for your own benefit." The guard replies calmly, completely unfazed by the inquisitor’s grumbles of protest.

“Wonderful. I’m a prisoner in my own fortress because I have a glowing green hand.”  he replies, rolling his eyes again, and Dorian finds himself trying to suppress a smile at the man who looks just about ready to murder his own guards. If he were in their position, he would have fled already and never looked back. Well, maybe he’d look back once or twice just for the view. It is certainly a very nice view, he thinks distractedly before mentally admonishing himself once again. This shows just how long it has been since he has seen a reasonably attractive man.

 “Well gentlemen,” the inquisitor continues with a false smile, “Seeing as you insist on following me, you could at least be useful and help me search this camp for any sign of what we are dealing with. It’s most likely either a group of rebel mages seeking our help or Venatori attackers.”

“Venatori?” gasps one of the younger soldiers who is quickly elbowed in the ribs by the one next to him.

Dorian snorts behind his hand. The fact that the name of their group alone can cause fear is definitely something to laugh at. They should see many of the men and women who are part of the Venatori, spineless arse wipes the lot of them. Then again the tops ranks of the Venatori are all terrifying, so he will give the young soldier his due.

The group spread through the camp and Dorian keeps his magic close at hand as he hears them move about. With their heavy footsteps and clanking of armour, he feels a bit safer in the knowledge that at least he won’t be crept up on.

 

Time seems to drag by as the guards and their inquisitor search the camp from top to bottom. Despite the fact that the men hadn’t found anything other than a burnt out fire and a couple of tents, they still seem to insist on searching the clearing from top to bottom. After about an hour the inquisitor was showing no sign that he was leaving any time soon and Dorian was becoming quite restless. His muscles were beginning to cramp against the cold and he can no longer feel his fingers or toes. He can’t even risk blowing hot air on his hands for fear they may see the plume of mist that escapes from his mouth with every breath. Of course, he also can’t light a fire because the inquisitor and his minions are still roaming through his camp like a pack of tracker hounds. Oh, how he wishes he hadn’t complained about the cold earlier, he was practically boiling in comparison to what he is currently feeling.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan, may I suggest that we head back to Skyhold.” Pipes up the commander of the group. Yes, yes please do inquisitor. Please return to Skyhold and bring your pack of human mabari with you! Dorian thinks to himself.

 “It doesn’t look like the residents of this camp are returning, and some of my men are complaining they are cold.” He continues and Dorian huffs bitterly. If he thinks that they are cold, try having to sit in the same position for an hour in the same conditions!

Dorian looks over to the white-haired man, repeating the word leave over and over in his head in the mild hope that he has suddenly developed telepathic powers.

“No.” replies the inquisitor stubbornly and Dorian has to hold back a loud groan. “We stay here until they return, if they are dangerous we fight them and eliminate a threat if they are not then we offer help and refuge.” The man stops in the centre of the clearing and turns to face his men with a face which is not to be argued with. “We stay here until sunrise if we have to. A couple of you can go back and get tents if you are not happy enough sleeping in the ones already here. Those of you who are cold, feel free to start a fire.” The men look very put out but nod anyway.  “Just remember,” the inquisitor adds with sly smile “I'm not forcing you to stay here, I've already told you all that I’m perfectly happy to be out here by myself.”

"We're under the Commanders orders Ser." The guard replies as he signals to his guards to continue their duties. The men straighten and salute in response before dispersing, many of them grumbling quietly to one another as soon as they are out of the inquisitor’s ear shot.

While this has certainly livened up Dorians week, he really has to make them leave and soon. He looks up at the sky where the sun is beginning to dip below the line of the horizon and can feel nerves beginning to rise in his chest. At this time of year night time hours are short and the inquisitor’s men cannot still be here by sunrise because his men will hopefully be returning. He needs a plan.

Think Dorian think!

He can see the inquisitor clearly, he is standing at the edge of the clearing looking out over the mountains. An idea clicks in his mind. If he can get the inquisitor to leave then the rest of them would follow. Of course, he can already hear Calpernia yelling at him that now is the perfect chance to complete his mission. One cleverly placed blast of fire or bolt of electricity and the man would be a goner. But if he took him down now then there was still his little group of shadows to deal with. As much as Dorian was confident in his own abilities, 12 guards were just about too many to deal with in one go. So if he attacked now, one or two would escape and alert the rest of Skyhold and not only would his chance to rescue Alexius vanish, but he and his men would likely be hunted, tortured, and killed. So no, now was not the right time for a little spot of murder.

He watches the inquisitor carefully, his bright white hair making him easy to distinguish from the rest of the men in the clearing. He hasn’t moved from that spot for several minutes and is sat fiddling with the blade of his staff, watching his guards move through the clearing with a look which Dorian would describe as bitterly resentful. One thing he knows about the man already is that the inquisitor doesn’t really want his little entourage of shadows to be with him. Hopefully, this would mean that getting him to leave without them wouldn’t be too difficult. He just needs to draw him out in such a way that the others won’t be alerted. Something silent. A carefully placed fireball would do the trick. A quick flash of fire down the mountain, just in the view of the inquisitor but out of sight from the others and the man would leave trying to track down its source.

As silently as possible, Dorian moves out from the cover of his rock. He needs to move around the man and his soldiers so that he can position his fireball perfectly. Luckily he can sense the Inquisitor's location easily, magic is pulsing from the man like a beacon. Unfortunately, his soldiers are not blessed with magic so he’d have to use his eyes to keep track of them.

The closer he gets to the inquisitor the stronger the pulsing of magic become and Dorian is beginning to feel a little lightheaded at its power. Even his father hadn’t had magic this strong. Maybe it is the magic of the anchor he is detecting. Hopefully. Either way Dorian doesn’t really want to come face to face with the man in combat any time soon, he did go up against Corypheus and live after all.

Giving one quick glance around, Dorian gives a final dash to hide behind the cover of a rock with the inquisitor sitting just on the other side. From here the inquisitor will be in a perfect viewing spot for his fire display.

Dorian takes a small breath and draws upon the fade, suppressing a sigh of relief as he allows his magic to flow through him. With a small flick of his wrist, Dorian causes a flash of fire to appear low down in the valley, hopefully away from where he his fellow Venatori recruits had disappeared to, and far enough away that the inquisitor would be far in the distance by the time his guards notice he is missing.

As soon as the flame springs to life he hears a small startled gasp from the man on the other side of the rock. With a satisfied smile, he extinguishes the flame and waits patiently, praying the inquisitor will investigate alone and won’t alert his guards. If he alerts his guards, then there is the risk that they will split and some will remain in the camp. If they think the man is in danger or missing, then all of them should leave to track him down. Or at least this is the mindset Dorian hopes the guards work with.

After a few moments, he sees the shadowy shape of the inquisitor heading down the rocky mountainside, using his staff as a walking pole. Dorian smiles and leans back against his rock. Now he just has to wait for the other soldiers to cotton onto the fact that their leader has gone for a little unsupervised stroll. After about 10 minutes there is a loud bang in the distance which catches their attention and there are shouts of panic as they notice that their inquisitor is missing. The guards scramble down the rocks, heading towards the source of the noise as they yell out loudly as they go.

Their voices disappear over the horizon and the camp is eerily quiet in their absence. Dorian waits several more minutes before he moves to the fire, which the guards had lovingly relit during their time here, and sits down with a sigh.

The crackling warmth of the fire quickly gets to work, the heat seeping into his aching bones and chases away all of the cobwebs, leaving him so relaxed that he is practically a pile of mush. Dorian revels in its warmth and leans back against the cave wall contemplating how risky it would be for him to close his eyes, just for a few minutes as his eyelids start to grow heavy. A few minutes won’t hurt, and the wind has finally calmed down so he will be able to hear if anyone enters the camp.

After one more quick look around, he gives in and lets his eyelids droop closed and he finally fully gives in to his blissful haze of relaxation, he hasn't been this warm for months and oh how he has missed this feeling. Pretty soon the Altus finds himself drifting in and out of sleep, the drooping of his head waking him every few minutes as his nose crashes against his chest. The sun sets below the horizon as the mage continues to doze, blissfully unaware of the silent approach of a white-haired mage. It isn't until the pulsing of the mages magic is close that he begins to stir. He opens his eyes blearily but is welcomed back to the world of the waking by a blade pressed against his neck.

Every muscle in his body jumps, his sleepy state evaporating immediately as he registers the sharp sting of the blade. A long string of expletives fly from his mouth and his mouth goes dry as he takes in the face of the man looming over him. The inquisitor. Vishante Kaffas, of course, it had to be him! Well done Dorian, you’re really in for it now


	4. The Same Side of Two Different Coins

As Theodore looks out over the mountains, he can feel it. He can feel the familiar static in the air, like the calm before a storm which can only signal one thing; the presence of a mage. You come to recognise it like a sixth sense after years in the circle. It was the first thing he had noticed when he was in Haven, the distinctive lack of magic had made the air feel wrong, like it had been sucked dry of something that he hadn’t been able to identify until Vivienne joined the inquisition. He had begun to think that the empty feeling was just something that came from living in Haven.

Whoever is here, their magic must be quite strong as the familiar prickling feeling under his skin is causing goosepimples to run up and down his arms. At first, he thought it was just residual magic left over from the mages who had clearly been camped here, but now he wasn't so sure. This magic was too strong, too intense for it to be residual which means that there is still at least one of them nearby. Theodores gut begins to turn as he thinks of what could happen if they are attacked by a group of mages so close to Skyhold. Too many lives rely on them already and what with their lack of Templars and battlemages, they could be very quickly overrun if the group of a attacking mages is large enough.

The feeling seems to be growing stronger rather than weaker and Theodore sits himself just outside the camp, looking out over the mountain as he tries to sense where the magic is coming from. Unfortunately, this has never been one of his talents and, despite his best efforts, he can’t sense anything more distinctive than the static haze that blankets the entire camp.

He stays sat like this for what seems like hours and Theodore can sense his soldiers are becoming restless with a few of the younger recruits having given up completely and are sat huddled around a fire. He feels sorry for them, Theodore more than many knows the horrible effects of being trapped in the cold, but he didn’t ask for them to follow him and he certainly isn’t forcing them to stay, so if they insist on helping him search, then Theodore is not going to leave until he finds out who or what is camping here. He can’t risk it.

Back in Haven, Theodore had felt safe, too safe, and that was his downfall. They had been woefully unprepared for Corypheus’ attack and many had fallen when trying to flee the evading red Templars and even more had died when Corypheus’ dragon had swooped from the sky and burned Haven to the ground. Though Cullen and Josephine had reassured him that the attack wasn’t something that they could have predicted, he didn’t see it that way. There is always something you can do to stop something like that, and he is not going to let anything take them by surprise again. There is a mage out here, and until they find out whether they are friend or foe, he is not going to leave.

Out of nowhere, a distant ball of fire flies into the air and catches his attention and his heart leaps into his chest as he prepares for an attack, his hand crackling faintly as he begins to tug on the fade.

Moments pass and nothing happens. No mage army erupts from behind the rocks; the clearing remains empty and it was almost as if it never happened.

He looks around to check if any of his soldiers saw it and he is surprised to see them all still sat by the fire talking while the others are walking the camp with weary faces as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Had he imagined it? No, there had definitely been a flash of fire. The cold may be grating on his nerves, but it hadn’t sent him mad yet. What if the fireball was meant just for his eyes? Warns a voice in the back of his head. The nearby mage might be trying to send him a warning or a message. He considers alerting his guards momentarily before deciding against it and he slides down from his rock as silently as possible. Maybe they wanted to be met alone. A group of guards would be intimidating to anyone, let alone a mage.

He turns his head to look back at the camp to see if anyone has noticed. No movement, no voices yelling at him to come back, so no, they hadn’t noticed. Good.

But wait, Theodore freezes in place as he sees an arm holding a stave poking out from the other side of the rock to where he was sat. A mage!  

His pulse begins to thump in his ears as he moves around the rock face to try and get a closer look. The mage is a man, or at least they seem to be from how they dress. From what he can see, they are dressed in a dark, thick robe with silver buckles that lace across his waist and upper thighs. In one hand, which is richly adorned with several gold and black rings, he holds a grand wooden stave. Carved snakes wind their way up the woodwork to clasp an emerald green rune at the top in their open mouth and at the other end is a thin sharp blade with serrated edges that glint dangerously in the light of the sun. Only mages who fight have blades on their staves, or at least those were the rules in the Ostwick circle.

What Theodore really wants to know is what is the mage waiting for? If he needed help he would have shown himself already. After all, most mages across Thedas know that the Inquisition supports mages, so why would they hide? Unless they were dangerous, he thinks to himself. It may be true that many of the mages from the fallen circles carried bladed staffs nowadays, but this blade doesn’t look cheap. A circle mage wouldn’t be able to afford that kind of craftsmanship.

What if he is a Venatori Mage, Theodore thinks to himself, a heavy feeling beginning to settle in his chest. If a group of Venatori Mages managed to get this close without gaining the attention of his guard patrols, then they were a lot more exposed than he initially thought. His heart begins to pound in his chest as he watches the man shift restlessly. What if he is simply waiting for the others to arrive and the flash of fire was his battle signal. Suddenly everything about the man’s presence screams danger.

He needs to get his guards out of there, and fast. He isn’t going to be the cause of any more casualties.

Unfortunately, while Cullen is good at training his men in using a sword and shield, they are certainly not trained in the art of subtlety and silence. If he was to get a message to them, then he needed them to leave without being made aware that anything was amiss within the camp.

Theodore tears down the rock face with as much speed as he can manage, using his staff like a walking stick to prevent him from losing his balance on the uneven surface.

He risks a look back and thinks he can still make out the shadow of the mysterious man. He hasn’t moved, that’s a good sign. At least he hopes it is. He ducks quickly behind a boulder breathing heavily. Think, Theodore, think! He knows he needs to alert his guards and get them to move away from camp, but what if the mage is just waiting for them to leave so he can spring a surprise attack from behind. He didn’t see any signs of other mages on his way down here, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t here, the mountains provide many places for people to hide. He needs to be up there with them to ensure their safety, close range fighters are no match for a flanking attack from a group of mages. How can he cause a distraction but be with his guards at the same time?

An idea forms in the inquisitor’s mind and he reaches into the bag at his waist, praying that he still has the powder Bull gave him.

“Oh thank the Maker!” He whispers, as he removes the small pouch of black Gaatlok powder from his bag. It’s a Highly explosive powder crafted and used by the Qunari, courtesy of Bull’s Qunari connections. Theodore smiles as he pours some into his hand. If he can make a fuse, then he can light it and move towards camp to keep an eye on the man as his men leave the camp to investigate. Then, if the man is indeed alone, then he can face him. One on one has always been his battle of choice.

He pours some of the powder into a crevice in the rock and tears some material from his shirt and unravels it before dousing it in his own personal supply of mead. Josephine will likely kill him for ruining yet another shirt, but this is necessary.

Theodore knows that he needs to move quickly once it is lit, so he moves to stand at the boundaries of his casting range before igniting the fabric with a flick of his wrist. He waits a moment to check that the material has caught before running back towards the camp, trying as hard as he can to keep his footsteps quiet and to remains out of sight. He just hopes the lurker hasn’t moved.

Holding his breath Theodore approaches the boulder where the man resides and silently thanks the maker when he sees the toe of a boot poking out from around the rock. The man is still here. From this angle, Theodore can get a better look at him as he peers out from behind his rock waiting for the powder to explode. The man is tall and slim, with bronze skin and thick black hair which, despite the high winds, seems to still be firmly set in a slight quiff. If the man isn’t dangerous, he will have to ask after his barber because no barber he has met can face the challenge of this mess of hair.  Judging from the man’s eccentric choice in clothes and the sheer amount of jewellery he has on his hands, the man is most likely a noble. But then again, what would a noble mage be doing out here? Most noble families in the south disown a child if they show any sign of magic, his own certainly had. They told him that he should consider himself lucky that he was allowed to keep the name Trevelyan when he had sent them a letter asking why they had removed his name from their family estate.

The ground shakes as the Gaatlok powder explodes in the distance and the man jumps, only just managing to stop himself from falling by gripping tightly onto the rock he is pressed against. Theodore waits with baited breath to see if this would make the man move, but it doesn’t, instead he presses back against the rock in an attempt to further conceal himself from view as Theodore’s soldiers shout to each other in the clearing.

Just as planned, they quickly notice that their inquisitor is missing and run from the camp calling his name loudly. He watches in relief as Captain Dalton orders them in different directions, splitting them neatly into three groups. Four of them split off from the rest and mount horses before taking off down the mountainside towards Skyhold. If he was lucky they were returning to Skyhold simply because they were too weak not to fight, and not because they were ordered to get reinforcements. Please don’t let them be going to get reinforcements!

The remaining guards head towards where he placed the Gaatlock and Theodore sighs in relief as, even after they are far out of sight, there is no sign of a fight or a struggle. It looks like the man was really alone.

==========+==========

 The Inquisitor waits in the shadows watching the stranger as the sun begins to wane behind his head casting deep shadows across the rocky mountain.  After about 10 minutes of sitting and waiting, the man stands up straight, stretching out his spine with a visible wince before walking cautiously over to the still burning fire. Theodore remains in place as he watches the man settle down and wearily rest his head against the cave wall. A few more minutes and the mans eyelids are beginning to droop. Is he really falling asleep when an entourage of guards has just left in pursuit of an explosion? He’s either very brave or very stupid, maybe both thinks Theo as he slowly and silently approaches the sleeping mage.

The sun finally slips below the horizon and, with just the light of the fire, he has a much clearer view of the man. To put it simply, the man is beautiful. Beautiful isn’t a word he usually uses to describe men, women tend to approve of its use much more, but in this instance there isn’t another word which can perfectly capture his looks.

The mage has a strong jaw with a slim aristocratic nose and a funny little moustache which curls up at the corners making him look like he is constantly smirking and on his left cheek, just beneath the fan of his eyelashes, is small beauty mark. The man’s breathing is slow and even, and a strand of black hair falls across his face as he shifts slightly in his sleep. His face is peaceful, it's almost a shame that he has to wake him.

Theodore takes a few more steps forwards, trying his hardest to keep his footsteps silent as he approaches, keeping to the shadows as much as he can. He is almost within reach when he sees the man begin to stir and he instinctively bangs his stave against the floor, a shower of blue sparks erupting from its base with a crack before placing the blade against the mages throat.

The mage wakes with a start, his pupils blown wide in alarm.

“Vishante Kaffas!” the man shouts loudly, swallowing thickly and wincing as he feels the blade a whispers width away from piercing his skin.

Vishante Kaffas? That’s not a phrase Theodore recognises.

“Who are you?” Theo orders in his best attempt at an intimidating tone, and it seems to work as the man squirms uncomfortably under his stare and averts his eyes.

“A man who has given you no reason to put your blade against his throat that’s who?” The man retorts, his eyes returning to stare at Theo defiantly.

“You are trespassing so I have every right to threaten you.” Theo says, reducing the pressure of the blade ever so slightly.

“I didn’t know that the Frostback Mountains belonged to anyone.” The man says smartly and Theodore stares back at him unamused.

“Well, this part is.” He replies shortly.

The man looks back at him puzzled, “And what place of refuge, may I ask, am I trespassing on?”

Theodore lets out a sharp laugh of disbelief “As if you don’t know!” The man’s attempt at feigning innocence isn’t going to fool him, he has seen enough liars in the circle. Templars who insisted that they were there to protect them and ended up being the ones they needed protection from, first Enchanters who promised that magic was a gift and not a curse but then imprisoned you in the top tower when you tried experimenting with new magic, and fellow mages who promised that they would never give in to blood magic only to be slitting their hands open at the slightest sign of trouble. Growing up among liars makes them easier to spot.

The man opens his mouth to reply but Theodore cuts him off again, “you can literally see our Stronghold from here, so don’t even try to lie to me.” He warns the man sharply. Theodore really doesn’t like being toyed with so the man better speak the truth, and quickly.

The man sighs dramatically, “Fine. I admit I know that I am on the mountains surrounding Skyhold, but it is only because I got lost on my expedition to find a rare mineral which, I was informed, only grew this far South.” The man smiles at him confidently, his eyes sparkling in the firelight.

Theodore looks at him carefully, the arrogant smile he is giving him making him feel frustratingly flustered. “Well,” Theodore says, hating the man for making him feel so unsure of himself, “What mineral are you looking for?”

The mages eyes widen, obviously not expecting a follow-up question and Theodore almost laughs. “ Silverite." He stammers quickly before composing himself with his obvious lie. "My mentor sent me to gather Silverite.”

“Try again.” The inquisitor says with a smile. He’s caught him out.

“Um, I’m sorry?”

“Try again.” He repeats, raising his eyebrows mockingly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what you mean by ‘try again’ I’m afraid” The man says, using exaggerated quotation marks as he attempts to mimic the low timbre of Theo's voice. “I’m here looking for Silverite, there is no ‘try again’.”

Theodore smiles knowingly at the man. Clearly he hadn’t thought his little lie through very well, Silverite cannot be found anywhere near Skyhold. In fact the mountains near Skyhold hold no useful materials whatsoever other than granite and vast amounts of dull grey rock. That's why he collects as much as he can while he is out on missions.

“You’d be lucky to find any metals here, let alone something as rare as Silverite.” Theodore says smugly, watching the man’s jaw clench and unclench his jaw.

“Okay fine,” sighs the mage defeatedly, “I’m not here to collect Silverite, I’m here to kill you. Is that what you want to hear?” He says deadpan without removing his eyes from Theodore’s.

“Well, you’ve done a brilliant job.” Theodore replies sarcastically. He could well be here to kill him, but why would he just come out and admit it if that was true?

“I feel extremely close to death. Oh the pain!” Theo continues, unsure which part of his brain had told him that it was a good idea to continue on with the joke as he dramatically holds his free hand to his forehead, mirroring the expression of an Orlesian noble lady when she is overwhelmed by disgust at the lack of mini tartlettes.

“Alright. There’s no need to mock my failure inquisitor.” Says the man, emphasizing the last word with a tone of distaste. “Now are you going to stand there with your blade to my neck all evening or are you just going to get on with the killing?”

“How do you know that I am the inquisitor?” Theodore asks.

“Who doesn’t?” He replies smoothly.

“Many people have heard of me; few know what I look like.” Theodore says, alarm bells beginning to ring loud and clear in the back of his mind.

“Your guards weren’t particularly quiet, inquisitor.”

Theodore pauses watching the man's face carefully. He has to admit he is curious about the man, as much as the man sets him on edge, surely if he were here to kill him then he wouldn’t be alone, only assassins work alone and this man is clearly no assassin. Assassins don’t fall asleep on the job.

“Why are you really here?” Theodore asks firmly.

The man chuckles deeply, “What? You don’t believe I am here to kill you? I’m not sure whether I should be offended or not.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Fine, if you remove this –“ he says, pushing gently at the inquisitors staff, “death contraption from my neck, then I will tell you why I am here.”

“No.” Theodore replies simply.

“Then I’m not going to tell you.”

“I have a blade at your neck, yet you are the one who is trying to make negotiations. I don’t think that’s how this works.” Theodore says, emphasizing his point by adding a little pressure.

“Okay, okay!” The man says, holding his hands up in surrender, “I’m here to see a friend. You captured him a few months back, and I wanted to see him.”

“Captured who?”

“Gereon Alexius, he was my mentor back in Tevinter. I came here to see if we could talk him around. He joined a supremist cult known as the Venatori and fled Tevinter a few months ago along with a few other members of the elite. He was raving about changing for Tevinter for the better, but I just thought he had finally lost it to grief over his son. I hadn’t heard anything from him or Felix for months, and his name back home is being dragged through the gutter. I just wanted to see him.” The mage says quickly, the story rattling off of his tongue at lightning speed. Theodore narrows his eyes, the story seemed to be the truth, and the man being from Tevinter would certainly tie together all of the information he had gleaned about him so far.

“Please,” The man pleads “Alexius is a good friend. I don’t know what he has done, but I have confidence that he can be brought back from this madness if you let me see him. He is a good man at heart.”

Theodore really hopes he doesn't live to regret this and with a sigh, he removes the blade from the man’s neck. Nothing about the story had sounded false, and the man’s mention of Felix made him believe that the man was telling the truth. Felix had proven that not everyone from Tevinter was bad, surely he should allow himself to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

The man responds with a small gasp as the blade is removed, and quickly covers his look of shock by rubbing at his neck and grimacing as he looks at the small amount of blood on the tips of his fingers.

“You cut me!” He exclaims, holding up his fingers to show Theodore.

“I could do much worse.” Theodore says, spinning his stave around in one hand before slamming the blade against the ground. He hadn’t intended to cut the man and Theodore feels a little guilty as he notes the small scratch on the man’s Adam’s apple.

“Could you indeed.” Says the man, his eyes flicking up and down Theodore’s body as the signature smirk returns to his lips. “I might like to see that.” He says, lowering his tone suggestively.

Theodore feels his blood rush to his cheeks and he has to force his mouth to shut as he meets the mages suggestive stare. “I- That’s not-“ he stammers, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious.

The mage gives a deep laugh which seems to rumble warmly in his chest. “Oh, you are fun. Tell me, do you blush like that for everyone or is this just reserved for me?” He says, smoothing the tips of his moustache with his fingers. “The name’s Dorian if you were wanting a name to remember me by. Dorian Pa-“ The man falters and straightens, fiddling with his cloak before raising his head proudly “Dorian Pastrayo.”

“Theodore Trevelyan.” He replies, holding one hand to his chest and giving a quick short bow.

"Trevelyan, now why does that name ring a bell?" Says the man with a curious tone, looking at the inquisitor with squinted eyes.

Theodore finds himself shifting uncomfortably under the man’s stare and shrugs. "Trevelyan is a noble house originating in Ostwick. They have a lot of connections with the Chantry. Maybe from there?"

There is a long silence as the man continues to stare at Theodore as if he is a puzzle that needs solving. "No, that's not it. Oh, I'm sure it'll come to me eventually!" he finishes with a dramatic wave of his hands.

“So Theodore Trevelyan, what is it to be? Am I free to go or are you still going to kill me even after our exchange of pleasantries?”

“I’m sorry Dorian, but Alexius is our prisoner; you must know that I can’t just let you walk into Skyhold to see him. I have a duty to protect the people in there.” Theodore says, running his fingertips along the handle of his staff distractedly. It was true, he couldn’t just let the man into Skyhold, it was too much of a risk. But, if what he said was true and he thinks that he can get Alexius to talk, then he may be really useful to have on side.

“I know,” The man says quietly, “it was foolish of me really to think that I could just walk up to Skyhold and demand to see him.” The man looks up from the fire, his eyes set firmly on Theodore’s own sending a flurry of butterflies into his stomach. He looks so solemn and so genuine and Theodore’s gut is telling him to trust him.

“There may be something that I can or-“

Theodore’s sentence is cut off by a blast of fire that skims past his ear and crashes against the cave just behind Dorian’s head. He spins around, pushing himself in front of Dorian. A group of around 12 or so soldiers filter into the camp, all dressed in cloaks with hoods that mask their faces. He recognises the uniform immediately. Venatori.

“Dorian run!” He shouts, quickly scrambling towards his stave which had flown from his hand with the first fireball. His stave had landed by Dorian and the two of them meet eyes and Theo motions for the stave but the man doesn’t move. Maybe he’s frozen in fear, he thinks to himself.

 Theodore reaches out to grab his stave just as Dorian slams his foot on it. Theo hears a loud crack as the wood splits in two and he looks up at Dorian with an expression of shock and confusion but the man’s face is expressionless as he reaches for his own stave. Before Theodore can even register what is happening the mage spins his stave around in his hand and sends a bright purple blast at Theodore, flinging him backwards across the camp.

There is a distant cry of "Venatori, attack the target!" and Theodore watches with a heavy chest as the man moves towards him, his outstretched palm prepared with a glowing purple spell.

"Please. Dorian." Theodore tries to gasp but the man responds by sending the spell into the centre of his chest. Dorian is with the Venatori, of course he is! How could he have been so blind, Theodore curses himself as he tries to get back to his feet.

He can hear the footsteps of the Venatori soldiers moving into camp and he groans as his vision begins to blur at the sides. He can feel the beginnings of something rising in his chest where the spell had touched, something horrible and unexplainable. It spreads like a fire through his body and his heart is racing. The feeling becomes more and more intense and soon he finds himself screaming as he becomes overwhelmed by pure terror.

It burns through his mind, tearing through his veins like a charging Druffalo as it drags every moment he has spent in fear throughout his life bursting to the front of his mind. The time an assassin came to their stately home and attempted to kill both him and his sister, the time he was taken away from his family by Templars, the time he was taken to his harrowing, the time he first met Corypheus and every nightmare he has ever had, he can feel them all. He screams, and he screams as the feeling attacks him. It doesn’t matter that his throat begins to hurt or his head begins to pound with the intensity, all he can see or feel is his own blinding terror. This is the worst kind of torture.

"Stop! please make it stop!" he screams over and over. But no one is coming to make it stop because no one but the enemy is there to hear him.

 

==========+==========

Dorian stands by the fire, frozen in horror. A slip of his hand, a reflex, that was all it had been and now the inquisitor was writhing and screaming on the ground left completely vulnerable. He had tried to cast another spell to reverse his blinding terror spell but it hadn't worked.

The Venatori rush forwards, mages with spells at their fingertips and the rest with their weapons drawn. He throws out a barrier as one of them sends a fireball hurtling towards Theodore and without thinking he yells “Don’t hurt him!” at the crowd of Venatori.

They freeze and turn to stare at the Altus. Some were confused, some were worried and some were angry. Many members of the Venatori have been killed by the inquisitor and his friends, some of whom were relatives and friend. They want revenge and not even their leader can stand in their way.

“I told you to stay away until sunrise, what do you think you are doing!” Dorian shouts furiously, trying to think quickly on his feet to why he, the leader of the mission to kill the inquisitor, is stopping them from killing the inquisitor. “If we kill him here then we will have the entirety of Skyhold on our tails and Magister Alexius will remain in their possession. We stick to the plan.” He says, the words rattling from him quickly. He’s lucky his parents brought him up to be well versed in how to ease situations such as this. One of many benefits of being raised as a noble in the battleground that is Tevinter politics.

“He’s already been alerted to our presence, Master Pavus.” Says one of the soldiers meekly “If we let him live he will alert Skyhold anywa-“

“Yes, yes, yes, just let me think for a second.” Dorian interrupts, pacing restlessly in front of the fire.

He spends several minutes walking backwards and forwards muttering to himself as his recruits stand helplessly watching him from the sidelines. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see many of them twitching. They want the inquisitor dead, they don't want to wait, especially when the temptation is writhing on the floor in front of them.

Minutes pass and the inquisitor’s cries are beginning to settle now; it won’t be long before he regains his senses. They only have a few choices and all of them end up with Alexius remaining in the inquisitions possession and he will not let that happen.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching at running speed snaps Dorian from his thought process and he hisses at his fellow Venatori to hide before stepping back into the shadows himself.

Seconds later a large group of the inquisitions soldiers from earlier enter the camp and Dorian curses to himself as he notices that not one of his recruits retreated when he told them to. The group of inquisition soldiers look confused at the sight they are met with but upon seeing their leader writhing and screaming they quickly draw their swords and with a sharp battle cry run at his men.

Dorian presses himself against the rock and takes short and shaky breaths as he wracks his brain for a plan. He has completely destroyed any hope of freeing Alexius and him and his men were going to be killed for failing their mission. Not to mention the threat Corypheus made to all of their families.

From the battle, he can hear the falling of bodies and the sound of swords through flesh and he isn’t optimistic that it is their foe that is losing. He risks a peek around the rock he is hiding behind and sees that his men are being massacred, many of their bodies lying awkwardly in pools of blood while those that remain fight viciously as blood trickles from numerous wounds. He should be there helping them, so why can’t he force himself to move.

One after one his men continue to fall until there are none left. The inquisition’s soldiers step over their bodies to get to their inquisitor and Dorian watches, his heart heavy as he notes the faces of those lying dead on the ground. Most of them were all so young. They hadn’t known what they were getting themselves into; they didn’t deserve this.

Dorian weighs up his chances at being able to face the remaining guards. He could take them, he has defeated more men single-handedly before. He readies himself, about to conjure a fireball from his shadowy corner when a loud horn sounds from the camp.

“The inquisitor’s down!” He hears one of them yell, and he watches from the shadows as a large group of men, all dressed in heavy armour, enter the clearing with their swords drawn. Despite being vastly outnumbered, he is still itching to attack, his conscience weighing heavy with the deaths of his soldiers. Luckily the rational voice in the back of his head holds him back. It would be fruitless to try and fight them, now that reinforcements have arrived there must be over twenty of them and, while he could probably take at least half of them out before going down, he knew that he was more use to his men alive than dying for them out of petty revenge.

The guards all gather around the inquisitor whose screams have died down to soft whines as he pushes his face into the stone floor.

“Where is he?” A voice sounds and a tall man dressed in the most ridiculous set of armour Dorian has ever seen, with dark fur around his shoulders and huge metal plates on his arms, pushes through the group to kneel down beside the inquisitor. Dorian continues to watch from his shadowy hiding place, anger and guilt still simmering below the surface. All of this death just to save one man.

Theodore grabs at the man in the fur, his eyes opening wide with fear as he clings to him in desperation, his voice pleading as he begs the man, Cullen apparently, not to leave him.

“Give him some space!” The man yells and the guards scatter away quickly, all of them looking on at the pair in concern.

The man lifts him with ease so that Theodore’s head is resting against his chest and, even from this distance, Dorian can hear him murmuring to him soothingly. They look so good together, and the way the taller man is staring at him, with such intense concern and care. Are they lovers? Dorian thinks his chest suddenly feeling a bit too tight. Dorian shakes his head trying to clear the emotion building in him. Is this jealousy? No, he shakes his head again, he is not jealous of this man dressed in ridiculous armour. Yes his first instinct after he cast the spell of Terror was to run over to the man and comfort him, but that doesn’t mean he is jealous of this man’s lover.  It must be the fact that they can be so openly affectionate, back in Tevinter he would have been locked away or assassinated if he so much as hugged a man for too long. He’s not jealous of the inquisitors lover, he can’t be.

 

==========+==========

Theo can feel the fear slowly draining and he tries to open his eyes again which have been scrunched up against the terrors, but when he opens his eyes all he can see is a mass of fur. His limbs ache from his terror fuelled thrashing but he manages to shift himself with a small groan.

“Shhh, try not to move.” Soothes a familiar voice. Commander Cullen. Of course, who else wore fur but Cullen!

“Cullen?” Theodore says, trying to move from the man’s arms but the man tightens his grip. “What happened?”

Cullen looks down at the inquisitor with sympathy but says nothing. Theodore looks around. They are still in the same campsite but the scene before him is very far from the one he expected to see. The rocky floor is now littered with the dead bodies of both inquisition soldiers and Venatori and pools of blood run across the rocks surface.

“Are they-“

“Dead?” Cullen answers, filling in as he hears Theodore’s voice break in grief. “Yes.”

“How many of ours?” Theodore asks, his chest hurting with the amount of guilt he feels as he looks at the faces of soldiers he wished would leave him alone merely hours ago.

“Five dead and three injured.” Cullen says, putting his hand on his chest in a silent prayer to the maker. “We fared a lot better than the Venatori recruits though. All dead.” He adds in an attempt to comfort Theodore.

Theodore can’t look Cullen in the eyes and instead chooses to hide his face in the man’s plate of armour.

“This wasn’t your fault inquisitor.” Cullen says softly, but Theo can feel the man’s body tense beneath him as he allows his weight to sag against the man.

It was his fault and Cullen knows it. If he hadn’t chosen to come back to find the mage, the mage who he had foolishly not killed on sight, then his men would still be alive and probably drinking happily in the tavern.

“Shhhh.” Cullen says again and holds him tighter in an awkward hug.

He can hear the other guards around him shifting their feet and he feels his face flush with shame. What kind of leader is he if he is reduced to a whimpering mess in front of his recruits and what kind of leader allows his men to be killed by an attack that could have been so easily avoided. This was all his fault. He pushes himself away from Cullen and stands up on shaky legs, but refuses a hand which is held out to steady him. Theodore can’t face them right now, not when he knows that they probably hate him for leading their friends to their deaths.

“I’ll be in the library if anyone needs me.” Theodore says pushing himself away from Cullen to stand on his feet.

“Inquisitor-“ Cullen says, attempting to stop him from leaving.

Theodore shrugs him off and the commander pulls back, letting him stand up and brush himself off. Theodore watches all of his guards, whose eyes are trained on the floor and walks past them with his head held high. Be strong, Theodore. He walks quickly towards his mount and, ignoring the two guards Cullen has sent to flank him, he jumps into the saddle and with a gentle click of his heels, begins his decent down the mountainside.

==========+===========

Dorian watches the entire scene unfold, amazed that the man before him is the same one who had held a blade to his neck merely moments ago. His demeanour is completely changed, the man he sees now, who walks from the clearing as if he is dragging a huge boulder on his back, is far from the strong and confident man who had seen through his excuses.

There is a thick silence as the remaining wait patiently Cullen, all of them look a little lost as they look at the number of bodies at their feet.

“Should we really leave him alone Ser?” says one of the soldiers as he slides his sword into the holster at his waist.

“Yes. He is a strong man, but he holds a lot of guilt. We all do. He just needs some space.” The man sighs, running his hand through his hair “Maker,” he whispers under his breath, “We need to move these bodies.” He says, looking at the bodies on the floor, his eyebrows drawn together in a pained expression which Dorian feels probably mirrors his own.

Cullen gets to his feet, straightening before addressing them, “I need three people to identify out own men, the rest of you prepare the mounts. We will carry our fallen back to Skyhold so they can have a proper funeral.”

“Yes, Ser!” The men reply in a chorus.

 “Wait. Those on body duty, I need you to pile the other bodies in a pile. We need to burn them otherwise we risk demons getting a hold of them. You,” he says signalling to the soldier nearest the fire, “You are in charge of burning the bodies. You stay with him and help.” He says signalling to another soldier. “The rest of you can help me take the bodies of our men back to Skyhold.”

With instructions given the men set about their duties and it is not long before they leave the clearing, leaving nothing but the putrid smell of burning flesh and pools of blood in their wake.

The mountainside is quiet apart from the soft crackle of the flames and Dorian hugs himself against the cold and lets a stray tear fall down his cheek. He would rather freeze to death than seek warmth from the burning bodies of his comrades. He had just watched them die, he had let his fellow Venatori die all because he was too weak to kill one man. Dorian was alone again and he had never felt more lost. He couldn't return to Corypheus with the inquisitor still alive and he couldn't return to Tevinter because Corypheus would track him down, and even without the risk of Corypheus, would his father take him back after all of the shame he has brought upon their family? Probably not.


	5. Footsteps in Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theodore prepares for the Winter Palace... and so does Dorian?

Theodore paces the war room as his advisers look on awkwardly from behind the table.

“It’s only one night inquisitor.” Josephine adds calmly. “And you will have a great deal of your men there along with you and your inner circle.”

“No.” Theodore snaps at Josephine and the woman jumps slightly at the sharpness of his tone. “If there is to be an attempted assassination then I want my men to be nowhere near.” He says, fighting to keep his voice steady as he looks through the plan of action that Josephine had handed to him. It had been a few weeks since the incident on the mountain, but it still haunted Theodore day and night. Haven hadn’t been his fault, that attack had been unpredictable, the attack on the mountain was entirely his fault.

“Theo- I mean inquisitor.” Cullen corrects himself with a small cough. “The inquisitions soldiers are here to serve the inquisition. They are trained to serve and protect, keeping them from doing their duty is not helping anyone.”

“I know.” Theodore admits, putting down the documents so that he can lean against the table with his head down. “Just promise me that we aren’t expecting to have to fight the entire of Orlais when we are there.”

Josephine had spent the last week trying to get him an invitation into Empress Celene's ball at the Winter Palace, and now that they had got one from Duke Gaspard, Theodore was dreading it. Politics and murder, his two least favourite things and he was about to be thrown in to a party where one was a definite and the other was highly likely.

His advisers watch him with quiet concern before Leliana breaks the silence, “I know Orlesian politics well and there is a reason that spies and assassins are more in demand than soldiers in Orlais. They tend to target one person only and they treat the fight for influence as a game rather than a war.”

“Ah yes.” Josephine adds smiling fondly. “How I have missed the grand game.”

“The grand game?” Cullen asks with mild interest.

“Indeed.” Josephine says, smiling shyly at Cullen as he leans over her shoulder to look at her notes, “To win favour in the courts of Orlais is a grand game of proving your intelligence and tact through flattery and fine clothes.”

“Not forgetting an impressive amount of masks, manipulation and backstabbing.” Leliana adds, her voice taking on a fond tone which seems out of place in the contexts of what she has just said.

“Quite. You must understand inquisitor that the court’s disapproval can be as great a threat as the Venatori.”

“Wonderful.” Theodore murmurs, because he hasn’t had enough of enemies like the Venatori as it is.

No matter how good Josephine and Leliana are at preparing him, Theodore has never been very good at politics and mind games. He may have been raised under the noble name of Trevelyan, but he was 8th in line for the Trevelyan legacy and so had been trained in combat until it was discovered he was a mage and was quickly shipped off to the circle of Ostwick. He had never been trained in the art of courtly manners and had attended one dance in his life when he was two. Politics has always been very low down on his skill set.

 

As inquisitor he has begun to get used to dealing with the occasional small political disturbance, but that was normally because he took Josephine's advice. He was far from skilled enough to be thrust into the middle of a civil war. There is a greater chance of a nug flying past the war council chambers window in the next few seconds than him succeeding to gain the courts approval.

“Do not worry yourself inquisitor. Leliana and I have set aside these next few days to teach you everything we know.” Josephine says with her usual beaming smile.

“Well then, you couldn’t be in better hands. I’ll be training with my recruits if you want me.” Cullen says, making a hasty retreat and Theodore scowls at him. It is clear that the commander hates politics and dances as much as he does, and Theodore is more than a little jealous that Cullen can get away without the intensive training that he knows he is going to have to endure over the next few days.

“Try not to tire yourself out too much Commander, we have the seamstress from Val Royeaux arriving later this afternoon, she’s here to fit everyone’s formal wear for the Grand Masquerade.” Josephine calls after him, smiling as Cullen stumbles slightly.

“Looking forward to it.” Cullen mutters under his breath as he opens the door, closely followed by Leliana.

“We can also style your hair for you commander. Which hair wax do you prefer?” Leliana adds, trying to stifle a giggle.

“Very funny Leliana.” He says with a sigh as he holds the door open for the spymaster and the two exit together. “And if you must know I have mine imported from Nevarra.” Theodore hears the Commander admit just before the door closes behind them.

Theodore turns to face Josephine with a smile and stands watching the woman scribble intensely on her board. “Josephine.” He says, suddenly feeling nervous about what he is about to say. “You do know that I cannot-“ He pauses and waits for Josephine to look up, “I cannot dance.”

Josephine tries to keep her face level but he can detect a hint of surprise in her expression.

“I was 5 when they took me away to Ostwick circle. Dancing isn’t really on the curriculum in the circle.”

“I see.” Josephine replies with a gentle smile. “It is no matter. We will just add it to what we have to teach you. Believe it or not but Leliana is quite the talented dancer.”

Theodore feels a wave of relief wash over him, “I can certainly believe that.” He says, recalling the way she had moved in battle during his trip to the future at Redcliffe. He would never dare doubt Leliana’s abilities at anything for fear he would get skewered gracefully by an arrow or a blade.

Theodore walks around the table, looking at all of the markers in place before sagging into the armchair at the end of the table.

“If you wish to have a few hours to yourself before we begin preparations then that can be arranged.” Josephine says noting his exhaustion.

“That would be wonderful Josephine. Thank you.” Theodore says with genuine gratitude. He hadn’t had a moment to himself for weeks. His advisors had thought that keeping him busy would keep his mind occupied, but, in reality his everyday tasks as inquisitor did the exact opposite, keeping it at the forefront of his mind instead. He was reminded daily that the majority of Thedas relied on him, and set down their lives for him. He doesn’t want to be inquisitor any more, he never did in the first place.

“I will arrange for food to be sent up to your room and someone will come and collect you when the seamstress arrives.” Josephine says, scribbling something on her board again.

“Oh Josephine you are a saint. What would the inquisition do without you.” Theodore says with a fond smile. Josephine blushes slightly and looks down at her board with a small smile.

“You’re too kind inquisitor, but I am not the one the people look to for hope and guidance. That is you. You are a good man, never forget that.” She says before she exits the room, leaving the inquisitor with his head in his hands in front of the war table.

==========+==========

“Hello Ser and what can I do for you today.” Greets a woman stood by a rack of gowns as Dorian enters Sienna’s Parlour in Val Royeaux.

He gives her one of his best charming smiles before replying “I am looking for some more weather appropriate clothing. Mine are more well-suited to warmer climates you see.”

The woman looks him up and down with a designers’ eye, probably imagining what outfits would look best on him when the answer is obvious, all of them would look best on him.

“I see. How many outfits are you looking to purchase Ser and will you need them to be custom fitted?” She asks seemingly distracted by the old fashioned clock on the mantle.

“If you are needed elsewhere then I am perfectly happy to come back another time.”

“No, no, not at all. I apologise for my rudeness Ser it’s just I have an important appointment later on today.” She says apologetically.

“Oh, an admirer perhaps?” He says, rolling his r’s slightly on the final word. The woman flushes visibly, causing Dorian to grin like a cat who got the cream.

“I’m afraid not Ser, I don’t have any admirers.” She says smiling at Dorian.

“A pretty woman like you, now that I can’t believe.” He says, strolling through the shop and flicking through the robes which hang on hooks on the walls.

“It’s someone much more important.” She says. At that Dorian turns around from his browsing, no longer having to feign interest.

“More important than a prospective lover, they must be important.”

“Well Andraste herself chose him to save us, so he is pretty important.” She says as proudly as if she had gained the business of Andraste herself.

“You can’t mean.” Dorian says

“The inquisitor himself.” She practically squeals, before calming herself to resume her professional demeanour.

“I apologise Ser, I am not always this excitable.” She says, her cheeks flushing again.

Dorian chuckles at her, “don’t worry, an opportunity like that is definitely something to get excited about.” He is certainly desperate to see the man again, but for a very different reason to the young seamstress he is sure.

It has been 2 weeks since his encounter with the inquisitor and he has thus far fully immersed himself in trying to find out the man’s next move so he can plan his attack. He has used his own information on Corypheus’ plans and scraps of information about the inquisition to try and predict when and where the inquisitor would be when he next left Skyhold. All of his own research has proven fruitless. It is slightly ironic that a trip to replace his ruined clothes turns up more information than weeks of intensive research in dingy libraries.

Dorian has never been a man to believe in fate or divine intervention, he has always trusted hard facts and research above the supernatural. But here he was after weeks of fruitless research, happening upon information about the inquisitor in his free time. Maybe he should think again about the whole existence of fate thing.

“The inquisitor. Really?” Dorian says, trying to keep his tone light and curious.

“Yes,” says the woman “I got the message the other week that the inquisitor and his inner circle need formal Orlesian outfits, and they chose me to supply them! Me!” She exclaims, clapping her hands in barely constrained excitement.

“How wonderful for you.” Dorian says with a smile. “Which event is he attending to need such a beautiful quality of clothes?” He asks, running his fingers through the fabric of a nearby gown.

“Oh it is one of the biggest events of the year, Empress Celene is hosting a Masquerade ball at the Winter Palace. Anyone of any importance is going, and I know many would kill to go.”

“Many probably have.” Dorian says with a light chuckle, Orlesian politics is basically a tamer version of Tevinter’s. Dancing, politics and murder all wrapped in the guise of a party, that is definitely the way to do politics, Dorian thinks to himself, feeling homesick for the first time in weeks.

“Very true,” says the seamstress with a high pitched chuckle. “I can sort you quickly before I go though, I’m sure pretty much anything will look good on you.” She says, her eyes quickly roaming over his body.

Dorian follows the woman to the back and she quickly sorts him out with warmer and definitely more south appropriate clothing. Maybe he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb anymore, even though he had bought his less elaborate clothing, Tevinter fashion still tends to stick out from the crowd. He had to steal a cloak from a cart just to attempt to walk through the streets of Val Royeaux.

“What do you think he’s like, the inquisitor?” The woman asks as she adjusts the cuffs of his jacket.

“Well from what I’ve heard he is very handsome and heroic. Probably very popular with ladies like yourself.” He adds with a wink.

“And men like yourself.” She replies.

“Men?” Dorian asks, trying to hide his surprise and glee.

“Have you not heard the rumours?” She says with the needle in her mouth as she pulls the thread gently through his sleeve, “Apparently he has a thing with the commander of the Inquisition.”

Dorian fights to keep the smirk on his face as he remembers how intimate the two men had looked after the battle at the campsite.

The woman carries on chatting at him about the inquisition but Dorian is no longer listening but is planning. The Winter Palace may not be the easiest place to access but if there was any place to assassinate someone, then it was at an Orlesian party where there are probably several people who want the same man dead. Luring the inquisitor away from his men had also proven in the past to be relatively simple, although he knew the man would recognise him within an instant and raise the alarm. This is why the masquerade was the perfect opportunity, with more Southern attire and a mask, Dorian would be unrecognisable to the man he had met on the cliffs. This would be the perfect plan, there was just one small little hitch, how was he going to get in? A Tevinter mage would never gain an invite to an Orlesian party, let alone a member of the Venatori.

==========+==========

 “No, no inquisitor, you are making it too difficult for yourself. There are only two steps between each beat not three. Josie can you count for him please.”

Theodore, struggles to hold his pose correctly as he attempts to guide Leliana in time to the music. Josephine begins to count and he clumsily moves his feet in time to the beat. Leliana winces and shoots him a deadly stare when he steps on her sparkly slippers.

“I did tell you not to wear your dancing shoes for training Lilly.” Josephine says with a gentle laugh.

“Yes, well, you never warned me that our inquisitor has two left feet.” Leliana says, looking down at their feet so that she can avoid further injury from Theodore’s heavy footing.

The door to the war room opens to a very confused Cullen. Theodore is aware that from Cullen’s position the scene must look beyond strange, what with the war table pushed to one side to make room for a gramophone and the Inquisitor and Leliana holding one another awkwardly as Josephine sits to the side, beside herself with laughter. Yes, it must look very strange indeed.

“I- er – I seem to have interrupted something.” Says Cullen, turning awkwardly as his begins to flush a bright red to the tips of his ears.

“Not wanting to join in the fun commander?” Leliana asks, clearly preferring the thought of having Cullen as a partner over Theodore.

“I’m not one for dancing I’m afraid.” He says as Leliana pulls him into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Come on Commander, Josie needs a dancing partner.”

“I really don’t know how, plus I -“

“Neither do I Cullen, that’s why I am being taught.” Theodore says, interrupting the man’s obvious attempt at an excuse with a cheeky grin. Leliana pulls Josephine off the table and Theodore gives Cullen an encouraging push until Josephine and Cullen are both standing facing one another. Cullen smiles awkwardly and offers Josephine his hand which she accepts with a bright smile.

Leliana flicks the needle back in place and the music starts up again. Theodore was hoping that a strong sword-trained soldier such as Cullen would make him look good in comparison, but unfortunately Cullen was a natural. After a bit of awkward toe stepping and tripping, it didn’t take long before Cullen was moving perfectly in sync with Josephine, whisking the ambassador around the small war room with ease.

Leliana looks at the pair with a mixture of envy and glee as she returns to teaching Theodore.

“Why are you finding this so difficult Theodore?” Leliana asks in genuine confusion as she turns her head to watch her fellow advisors twirling gracefully around the room.

“Well I believe that Cullen was lying when he said he’d never been taught how to dance.” He replies bitterly, yet again stepping on Leliana’s toes.

“I wasn’t lying.” Cullen says as he whisks past with a sideways grin.

“He’s clearly just a natural.” Josephine says and giggles as Cullen dips her before lifting her back up and spinning her.

Leliana stares at the inquisitor intensely.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a very intimidating stare?” Theodore says, feeling extremely awkward and inadequate under her scrutinizing gaze.

Without saying a word Leliana walks across the room and lifts the needle off of the gramophone before returning to stand in front of Theodore, ignoring the complaints from Josephine and Cullen.

“I want to try something.” Leliana says guiding Theodore towards Cullen. “I’m going to try getting you to be the one who is led in the dance. Maybe you will pick that up a bit easier.”

Theodore looks at her in confusion, “but aren’t men supposed to lead?”

“No,” Josephine pipes up from behind Cullen, “Men just tend to lead because they are generally taller than the women.”

“And stronger” Cullen adds.

“Not always,” Leliana retorts and Cullen raises his hands in a quick surrender as Leliana shoots him a challenging death glare.

“Okay not stronger,” he admits.

Leliana places all of his limbs in the right place so that he has one hand on Cullen’s shoulder and their other hands are joined. Leliana moves towards the music and tells him to try the same steps just forwards instead of backwards. The music starts and it is just as awkward as it was when he was leading; until it isn’t. The movements of being led just seem to click, and even when he strays away in the wrong direction as he misses a beat, Cullen guides him back into time with a strong hand against his back. Soon they are gliding around the room, giving the impression that they are at least adequate at formal ball dances.

“Well done Lilly, I hadn’t even thought to try him as the one being led.” Josephine says, clapping with excitement.

Theodore swells with a sense of achievement, he had always known he was more of a follower than a leader. It was what felt more natural to him in most aspects of his life.

Just as Theodore is beginning to enjoy himself, they are suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door and one of the recruits enters. He flushes slightly as he addresses the commander who is still locked in the dance position with one hand on Theodore’s waist and their bodies pressed flush against one another.

“I – er - I was told to inform you that the Seamstress from Val Royeaux has arrived and is waiting in the inquisitor’s personal chambers.”

Cullen pulls away from Theodore, a blush creeping up his face again. “Yes, tell her to expect us promptly.” He replies. The soldier gives a short bow of his head before quickly leaving the room.

“I think you just traumatised the poor boy.” Josie laughs.

“Maker,” Cullen exclaims running a hand through his hair, “I can hear the rumours already.”

“There are rumours pairing the inquisitor with every one of us commander. This will just add another to the pile.” Leliana says, clapping the commander on the back as she leads the inquisitor out the door.


	6. People and Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theodore arrives at the Winter Palace

There were no words strong enough to describe how uncomfortable Theodore felt in his formal wear as he sits in a carriage squished between Sera, Bull and Cassandra.

“It’s gonna be alright boss.” Bull says with a grin, “get some of the Orlesian vintage stuff down you and you’ll be good.”

“Thanks Bull, but I think drinking myself into a stupor is not the smartest plan for this evening.” Theodore says grimly as he looks out of the carriage window at the Winter Palace which has just become visible in the distance.

“Suit yourself, yeh. If you don’t wanna get drunk just avoid the poshest stuff will ya. I’m gonna get the nobles proper smashed with this.” Sera says with a smirk as she removes a glass bottle of bright green liquid.”

“Oh ho ho!” Bull exclaims as he grabs the bottle from Sera, “This is strong stuff, where did you get it?”

“Stole it from behind the bar back at Skyhold, it’s never been opened or nothing!” Sera says with a mischievous chuckle.

Theodore tunes the two of them out as Bull goes on to explain to Sera how just breathing in its fumes can get you wasted.

 The Winter Palace gets closer and closer and soon he can hear the melodic strum of the string band through the open windows. This was going to be a grand affair and one that he would do anything to avoid. He had tried to feign illness to Josephine earlier in the day but she had seen right through his attempt and immediately sent for a healer who declared him fit to go. Stupid healer.

The carriage rattles to a stop outside the grand iron gate and Theodore is helped from the carriage by his advisors who are there ready to brief him.

“Inquisitor. I hope you are in better health.” Josephine says softly, as she looks at the inquisitor with a worried expression. He probably looks pale, he has a naturally pale complexion, a trait he gained from his mother’s side, but the nerves must be making him look extra ghoulish.

“I am as well as a man about to walk into an Orlesian court can be.” Theodore says smiling nervously.

“I’m sorry inquisitor, but this is something that just must be done.” Josephine says, walking beside the inquisitor as they make their way to the gated entrance to the yard. “The political situation in Halamshiral hangs by a thread and the Empress fears that our presence could sever it. Thanks to your trip to the future, we know better.  Fortunately for us, Grand Duke Gaspard is only too happy to have us at the ball as his guests. That is where we got our invitation.” Josephine says confidently, she has always revelled in the inner working of politics and games and you can tell just by the way she holds herself. They aren’t even inside the Winter Palace yet, but you can tell just by the way she stands that she is ready to play the grand game.

 “We, of course, know that tonight there is intended to be an assassination attempt on Empress Celene’s life. We do not have to stop it, we just have to help Orlais choose its next leader before a civil war can start. We assume that Gaspard thinks that we are his allies, even if we are not to be his ally I would recommend at least acting like one until you decide what to do.” Josephine continues before pausing just outside the gate. Two inquisition soldiers take their place in front of the inquisitor and his advisors and together they enter, this arrangement making them look a lot more important than they actually are.

“Just remember,” Josephine whispers in his ear, “How you speak to the court is a matter of life or death, this is the game and we have trained you well for it. Just remember what we taught you and I trust you will be brilliant.”

Theodore looks down at Josephine who looks extremely smart and comfortable in her formal wear in comparison to himself and smiles warmly at her. Even if her words did little to ease his nerves, he did appreciate the fact that she believed in him. It was nice to know someone did.

He takes a deep breath and the signal is given from Cullen for his guards to part and for the first time Theodore gets to see the Winter Palace in all of its grandeur. It is breath-taking. The courtyard is lusciously green with rows of flowers and hedges lining the pathways so that the nobles can take a civilised stroll through the shrubbery without the threat of getting their shoes dirty. In the centre of the pathway leading up to the front door is a grand fountain with crystal clear water that shimmers as it reflects the starry sky above. Powerful jets of water shoot upwards from its centre and it rains down on the four golden statues which seem to be a mixture of a lion and an eagle. Both majestic creatures, of course, you’d expect nothing less from the Empress of Orlais.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you, inquisitor Trevelyan” greets a man who approaches the inquisitor with confidence. The man is dressed in a golden mask with a pointed nose reminiscent of a birds beak, his outfit seems to be a combination of both military and formal wear and, in typical Orlesian fashion, he wears a large golden chain around his neck. Orlesians loved to wear all of their fineries to events like this.

 “Duke Gaspard.” Leliana whispers behind him just as the man steps forward to shake his hand. Theodore greets him with a small smile and a nod.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Duke Gaspard, I have heard a lot of things about you.”

“All good I hope.” The man says with a small smile. “I can certainly say that I have heard a lot about you too. The rumours coming out of the Western Approach say you battled an army of demons.” Gaspard continues seemingly impressed. Theodore nods with a polite smile, trying to hide a grimace as he feels a flash of intense guilt at the memory.

“Imagine what the inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emporer of Orlais.” He continues. Theodore lets slip a small snort at the man’s far from subtle attempt at getting the inquisitions backing. Josephine coughs and he feels her elbow jab him sharply in the rib, just out of view of Gaspard.

“Yes,” Theodore says quickly, shifting slightly away from Josephine and her sharp elbow, “I can see many benefits to such an alliance.”

“Keep the image firmly in mind. We may see it materialise by the end of the evening.” The Duke says, a sly smile just visible beneath the bottom of his mask.

The inquisitor and his entourage remain by the gates until the Duke is out of sight.

“Not very subtle is he. Do you think he’s the one who hired an assassin?” Theodore says, turning to face his ambassadors.

“It could be any of the people who are attending tonight, but our main suspects are Gaspard, and Briala the Empress’ old handmaiden.” Josephine says, her eyes roaming the grounds carefully; this is her battleground after all.

“Are you coming inquisitor?” He hears Gaspard call out from beside the main doors.

The party moves swiftly forwards and he can hear Josephine let out a quiet prayer to Andraste as the doors are opened and they are led into the Winter Palace.


	7. Not so out of place

Dorian adjusts his mask against his face as he takes the hand of the elderly Miss Marcella as they walk across the grand ballroom. He has been announced as Ser Avernus Calogera and bows formally in front of the Empress before they take their places by the balcony; a perfect spot to watch the rest of the guests enter and be introduced. Twenty or so groups of guests later however, and Dorian is beginning to get impatient and the droning voice of the announcer is really beginning to grate on his every nerve.

By some sort of miracle, he had managed to convince Miss Marcella to arrive early so that he would get to see the inquisitor and his entourage arrive. He had thought the woman would be easy to shake after introductions were made, but as he stands with Miss Marcella leaning her head against Dorian’s shoulder, he begins to see a slight flaw in his plan. At first she rests her hands on his elbow; staking her claim. It soon becomes obvious, however, that the woman has Dorian here for more than just being a little bit of arm candy. Her hands begin to wander as yet another introduction is made, and as her fingertips trace the band of his trousers she sighs suggestively, her breath hot against his ear as she strokes another finger along the buttons of his shirt. Dorian removes the woman swiftly with a polite smile, whispering something about appropriate decorum at an Orlesian party, before swiftly grabbing a glass of wine from a passing servant and shoving it into her hand. Miss Marcella was nothing more than a means to entering the Winter Palace, yet try as he might he just couldn’t seem to shake her. It is probably his own fault for being too damn irresistible, if only she knew that she wasn’t his type in more ways than one.

“And now presenting.” Drawls the pompous voice of the court announcer and Dorian turns his attention back to the guests entering with tired eyes. “Duke Gaspard de Chalons. And accompanying him is Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi.” Dorian’s eyes snap up to the top of the stairs where a familiar shock of white hair stands out from among the other nobles. Dorian's breath seems to catch in his throat as he watches the man descend the stairs. He looks like an exquisite piece of art dressed in all of his finery with the bright red material complementing the pale pink tone of his skin, the cut of the collar exaggerates his exquisite jaw line and the trousers, which fit to perfection, definitely highlighted one of his best assets if you’ll excuse the pun, Dorian thinks to himself hiding a small smirk with a small sip of his wine.  The man really is something to look at and the rest of the room knows it too as a hush falls over the gathered nobles.

The inquisitor moves forwards and gives the Empress a small bow before the announcer continues his reel. “Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, and crusher of the vile apostates of the Mage Underground. Champion of the blessed Andraste herself.”

Dorian snorts as the list of the man’s accomplishments continues. They really do like to oversell people because, as far as he was aware, no vanquishing had actually occurred at Redcliffe as the Venatori had driven his forces from Redcliffe not long after they had made their alliance with the mages. And Champion of Andraste? If the court really believed that he was sent from a rift by Andraste then they were beyond idiotic. It was nothing more than a big mistake. Corypheus had told them all about it before their attack on Haven. He had told them that his so called ‘blessing from Andraste’ was simply the result of the foolish man stumbling upon something he shouldn’t have. He was no Herald.

The inquisitor seems to agree with Dorians assessment if his poorly hidden grimace is anything to go by. 

Dorian tunes out the rest of the introductions as he watches the man cross the room, oh how he likes to watch him walk Dorian decides, admiring the tight cut of the man’s trousers once again. He makes an attempt to move towards the inquisitor but is grabbed by his arm by the gloved hand of his lovely date.

“Going somewhere mon amour?” She says with heavily lidded eyes.

“Err, yes I was actually.” Dorian says, looking around for a means of escape. “I’m afraid I drank too much on our way here and nature is calling. I won’t be a moment ma belle dame.”

“Don’t be too long my dear, I have requested a song for us to dance to.” She says, waving her fan flirtatiously in front of her face.

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it.” Dorian says, giving her his best fake smile before he bows and strolls across the ballroom, leaving the woman to giggle obscenely behind her fan. He had almost forgotten what it was like, the intensity of a noble ball and the vigour at which a woman will go to if they have their sights set on a man. He really shouldn’t have led her on.

-

Dorian moves swiftly through the crowd, cursing the blasted woman for distracting him, as he finds that the inquisitor is no longer addressing the Empress. In fact, it seems that he is not even in the grand ballroom anymore. Luckily his hair and formal wear make him relatively easy to spot and it only takes a few peeks into a couple of siderooms before he finds the familiar shock of white hair. He is stood to the side, talking to a red headed woman dressed in finery that matches the inquisitors own.

Dorian moves to the pillar just behind them and leans against it in an attempt to look inconspicuous.

The pair seem to be coming to the end of their discussion, but Dorian manages to catch a little from the inquisitor and the red headed woman, the inquisitors voice much more distinctive amongst the sea of Orlesian accents.

“Both of our leads point towards the guest wing. It’s a promising place to start.” The woman says in a low tone, her voice so quiet that Dorian can barely make out what she is saying. “I’ll coordinate with our spies to see if they can find something better. I’ll be in the ballroom if you need me.”

Dorian waits patiently for the sound of the red haired woman’s exit but their little corner remains quiet. Too quiet. Dorian feels the need to peek around to get a look when the deep voice of the one man he is trying to avoid detection from cuts through him.

“Lovely evening isn’t it?” He says, not quite managing to keep suspicion from his tone. Dorian turns to face the man, desperately hoping that the mask will do its job properly. The man is stood before him, leaning casually against the pillar with a glass of wine in his hand.

“Care for a drink?” He says, offering him the glass.

Not wanting to rouse suspicion Dorian accepts the glass, placing his own empty glass on a nearby cabinet before thanking him in his best attempt at an Orlesian accent that he can manage. The man squints at him slightly, but hopefully not in suspicion. Maybe it was because his Orlesian accent was so terrible that it was almost as if he wasn’t even speaking common anymore. Or maybe he has a naturally suspicious face.

“You don’t happen to know where the guest wing is, do you? I’m supposed to be meeting a friend by the doors of the guest wing and I can’t remember for the life of me where it is.” The inquisitor says smoothly, running one hand through his hair which, Dorian hasn’t failed to notice, has been tamed into a much more acceptable style than the one he had had when they met in the mountains. It is still a mess though.

“I’m afraid I ‘aven’t ‘ad time to properly explore ze premises.” Dorian says, his attempted accent still thick and very off.

“Shame.” Says the man with an exaggerated sigh “I was hoping you would give me a tour.”

The man bites his lip as his eyes scan their way up Dorians body. Wait. Was he flirting? This feels eerily like the start of one of his erotic dreams Dorian thinks, quickly shutting his mouth which has fallen open in a very unflattering fashion.

“Ah well, if you find anyone that knows, send them my way.” He continues with a small smirk, bowing his head before walking away. And oh how Dorian does like to watch the man walk away, the confident swagger of his hips as he holds himself proudly, only exaggerated by his well-fitting clothing. The seamstress has done a good job, he will have to go back and thank her.

“Oi fluffball!” Comes a shrill yell coming from the other side of them room which causes the inquisitor to stiffen before giving a loud sigh and turning around. Fluff ball? Interesting nickname.

“Sera.” The man says quietly as the scruffiest young elf Dorian has ever seen pushes her way through a group of nobles gathered in the middle of the room.

“Someone took it!” The elf says, crossing her arms angrily across your chest.

“Took what Sera?” The man replies with an exhausted sigh similar to one a parent would use on an energetic child.

“You bloody well know what. Someone took my bottle of stuff!”

“Well, I’m sorry Sera but I can’t help you look right now. Go and ask the Bull.” The inquisitor says with another resigned sigh but the elf doesn’t look like she is going anywhere. The inquisitor looks tiredly at the young elf before sighing and pulling her over to the side where he whispers something in her ear. The elf’s face begins to turn a vivid shade of red before she yells a loud string of curse words, almost causing a nearby noblewoman to drop her wine glass. I think I like her, Dorian thinks, this party definitely needs someone like her.

“That blasted bloody horned bastard. I’ve got an arrow with his name on it. Steal my friggin’ stuff. Arse!” She yells as she pushes her way back across the room. Dorian simply smirks as he watches the young elf go, leaving a path of horrified nobles in her wake.

The man does seem to keep interesting company, he’ll give him that, Dorian thinks to himself as he watches the inquisitor disappear into the next room. Well at least he knows where the man is heading, but why did he approach Dorian of all people to ask for directions? Even in his Orlesian attire Dorian still looks distinctly out of place with his dark and tanned skin instead of the powdered white which seems to be the fashion in Orlais. He also didn’t have enough money to buy a pair of formal trousers so he had had to settle for his formal trousers from Tevinter which sported many more buckles than the typical Fereldan or Orlesian attire. People in Tevinter aren’t known for their desire to blend in with the crowd after all.

He moves into the ballroom, keeping a wary eye out for Miss Marcella, who is most likely already searching for him. He probably should have used a better excuse such as meeting a business partner or going to the smoking room for a game of Wicked Grace. Forward planning never has been one of Dorians specialities as he much prefers going out on a limb and hoping it won’t come back to bite him on the ass.

 “Dorian?” Says a harsh whisper from right beside him and he turns in shock to see none other than Duchess Florienne de Chalons herself. Kaffas, of course she would be present at her own cousin’s party!

“Florienne.” Dorian says calmly behind a false smile as he bows from the waist in polite greeting.

“We were told by the elder one that you had died.” She hisses, smiling and nodding politely at passing nobles in order not to draw attention to herself.

“Well, here I am.” Dorian says gesturing to himself “Not dead.”

“Why have you not reported back to the elder one?” She asks accusingly. He really doesn’t want to have this discussion with her right now and he sighs as he gestures with a small nod in the direction of the inquisitor hoping that she will get the message.

“Believe it or not I want to complete my mission before I report back. Our dear Elder one doesn’t take well to failure if I remember correctly.” The Duchess visibly pales and nods. “And which noble will be receiving a nice dose of poison tonight?” Dorian asks with a smile but the Duchess doesn’t reply and chooses to look out across the ballroom pretending she didn’t hear the question. “Someone important then.” Dorian fills in for her.

“Yes.” She whispers sharply, “so if you could draw as little attention to yourself as possible during your proceedings it would be much appreciated.”

Dorian holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Me? Draw attention to myself? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Oh and Dorian.” She says as if she is talking to a misbehaving child “I advise that you keep him clear of the Royal wing and don’t get too drunk.”

Now that is I promise I might not be able to keep, Dorian thinks to himself as he watches the woman walk away. He really envies the woman’s ability to remain regal and composed moments after discussing illegal Venatori activities. It is always risky to talk out in the open about their associations, but at a party full of gossiping nobles the risk increases tenfold.

Dorian’s breath catches in his throat as the woman approaches the inquisitor who offers his hand out to her and leads the woman onto the dance floor. Is she here to kill the inquisitor too? Did Corypheus replace him with the Duchess?

He feels a mixture of wounded pride and jealousy in the pit of his stomach as he watches the two of them begin their dance with the Duchess taking the lead. He tells himself that this sudden onslaught of emotion is because Corypheus replaced him so quickly and not because the Duchess is standing so close to the inquisitor with her chest pressed against his as they glide across the floor in time to the music. He can’t help but see how her hand is pressed into the small of his back and the way their faces are tilted towards one another.

Dorian grabs two wine glass from a passing servants and promptly downs them both. The alcohol seems to work quickly as a pleasant buzz spreads through his system and he has to concentrate more than usual as he begins his search for the guest wing. If only the rooms were signposted, he thinks with a sigh as he walks around the outside of the dancefloor, purposefully choosing not to look for the inquisitor until the song has finished.

He goes up the stairs and finally finds a door labelled Guest room. He tries to push the door open but instead swipes at the air clumsily, his fingertips only managing to brush the painted wood as his arms fall heavily to his sides. He feels himself swaying dangerously and feels himself falling forwards. His forehead crashes against the door and he gives in, his body slumping forwards so that he is fully leaning against it. He leans there for a few moments, trying to collect his thoughts as the room continues to spin around him.

Three glasses of wine and you’re like this, Dorian curses himself. It has been a few months since he last drank alcohol so it was expected for his tolerance to decrease a little. But three glasses?

He shakes his head as he focuses hard on the door handle as he attempts to open the door. He swipes at it a couple of times before successfully gripping it. He tries to turn it but the handle barely budges; it’s locked. Kaffas, of course it’s bloody locked!

His vision begins to blur at the sides as he feels bile beginning to rise in his stomach. He holds his mouth, being sick at an Orlesian ball is really not the way to blend in he thinks as he searches for a nearby pot or plant. He leans his head against the cool brick wall, relishing in the way it gives him something to focus on other than the waves of sickness roiling through his system.

“Someone had a little bit too much to drink?” Comes a very familiar voice from behind him. The inquisitor of course, who else.

“What have you done?” Dorian says weakly, thinking back to the drink that the man had handed him earlier.

“I thought you Vint’s liked your wine spiked at parties. Isn’t that right Dorian Pavus?” The man says with a raised eyebrow as he pushes the Tevinter up against the wall, rendering the man helpless by pinning his hands by his sides. How does he know his real name, Dorian thinks with a sense of dread. True, his fake name Dorian Pastrayo may have been pathetically close to his real name, but that’s what happens when you forget that you don’t want people to know who you are. He’s used to waving his name around like a trophy.

He tries to struggle free but his mind is so cloudy from whatever the man put in his drink that he can’t even summon a simple wisp and before he can do anything he feels a glowing warmth spread through him and he gives in to sleep, slumping to the ground like a sack of flour.


	8. A friendly bit of spiking

The inquisitor saw through the man’s disguise straight away, he would recognise that ridiculous moustache and set of grey eyes anywhere, not to mention the terrible attempt at an Orlesian accent which practically screamed imposter.

As it turns out, Sera is a lot easier to pickpocket than he thought a rogue would be and he easily managed to steal away her bottle of maker knows what which she stole from the tavern back in Skyhold. All it takes is a splash of the stuff in a glass of wine and, judging by how the man is swaying and stumbling, it will get you drunker than a wasp on cider.

He didn’t know why the man from the cliffs was here or what he wanted, but one thing Theodore knows is that his presence isn’t a good thing. Maybe he’s the hired assassin. Assassin or no, he certainly didn’t detect the special stuff as he downed the Orlesian wine Theodore had handed to him.

Theodore had left the conversation smiling with the knowledge that he wasn’t going to be fooled again and he decided to explore the servants’ quarters while waiting for the stuff to take effect. Unfortunately he had ended up fighting a gang Venatori zealots and a rather skilled Harlequin assassin who shredded the sleeve of his jacket, something which wouldn’t normally matter as he would just have it fixed in the under croft when he returned to Skyhold. Nobles however would turn their noses up at a torn sleeve and he didn’t want to lose any more of the courts favour which he knew had plummeted the moment he was announced as an ex circle mage. Oh well.

If this evening couldn’t get any more exhausting he was then summoned to the grand ballroom before he had a chance to check in with his resident Venatori, where he had to dance with the Empress’ cousin Duchess Florienne, a polite woman but then again this is to be expected of nobility. However there was something decidedly off about her; she certainly knew more than she was letting on and she never let the Empress out of her site because as soon as she spotted the Empress leaving the room she abruptly stopped their dance and followed quickly after her. Maybe she knew something about the attempted assassination and was trying to prevent it from happening. But then again, as the Empress’ cousin why would she not simply warn the woman and then this whole to-do would finally be over and done with and Theodore could go home and burn this hideously uncomfortable clothing.

After the dance he was surprised to find that Dorian was nowhere in sight, for a man who wanted to kill him he wasn’t doing a very good job. He hadn’t made a single attempt because as far as Theodore was aware none of his wine glasses had been poisoned and he wasn’t bleeding to death in a spare bedroom somewhere. So where was his Venatori mage lurking. He searched the grand ballroom and the gardens and was surprised to find the man in a relatively deserted corridor, swaying slightly on the spot while staring at a door handle. The drink had worked quickly then, Theodore notes with a small chuckle.

“Someone had a little too much to drink?” He asks and the man visibly startles, clutching onto the door frame to prevent himself from stumbling over as he turns a little too quickly to look at the inquisitor. Theodore smiles a little as he watches the man try to focus on his face, it really was strong stuff.

The man totters a little on his feet as he tries to take a threatening step towards the inquisitor holding his mask in his hands. Without the mask on his face Theodore can see his skin has visibly paled and he has a sheen of sweat across his forehead.

“What have you done?” He slurs, making it sound more like ‘Wha hathyo don’

Theodore watches the man and feels a stirring of sympathy but he quickly wipes it away as he realises who is standing before him. Dorian Pavus, Altus turned Venatori mage, it didn’t take much to find him. He had assumed that he had given him a fake name on the hillside, lucky for him though he hadn’t thought to give a fake first name as well as last name. The man also foolishly gave him a last name that started with the same few letters as Pavus so when he was looking through Tevene records there was no evidence of a Dorian Pastrayo, but there was a Dorian Pavus who, in the paintings which were supplied, looked very like the dark haired mage that now swayed in front of him.

“I thought you Vint’s liked your wine spiked at parties. Isn’t that right Dorian Pavus?” Theodore says clearly enunciating the man’s real name as he takes a step forward with every word until he has the mage pressed up against the stone wall.

He looks into the man’s piercing grey eyes and is suddenly reliving the short scene on the mountainside and anger screams inside him. This man caused the death of 12 innocent men so Theodore wants nothing more bash the man’s head against the wall until he bleeds from his ears for what he had done. But he can’t, he shouldn’t.

Every muscle in the man’s body tenses as he looks down at Theodore who is pinning his arms to his sides so that he can’t try anything dodgy, not that he’d be able to in his current state. Theodore can feel his heart hammering in his chest as the man’s fearful and erratic breaths beat against his cheek. Theodore revelled a little in the fact that he had the power to make a man as supposedly powerful as Dorian tremble, but now that he had the man at his mercy he didn’t know what he should do with him. He so badly wants to kill him, wants to make him pay for the lives he and his Venatori took. But he knows he can use him and deep down he doesn’t want to cause more bloodshed than necessary. He hates killing unless absolutely necessary, it’s one of the only things he prides himself upon.

The sound of footsteps interrupts his thought process and he quickly casts a mild sleeping spell on the mage who slumps against him with his nose buried in the crook of his neck. The inquisitor shoves the man off, but manages to catch him before he falls to the floor and he quickly drags him in through the door and props him against a bookcase praying that the spell will last until the person outside the door leaves.

He moves towards the door and peeps through the key hole, being careful to keep the sleeping mage firmly in his peripheral vision. He’s taking no chances this time. On the other side of the door stands an elven servant who is looking around suspiciously. Theodore knows that some of the elven servants are involved in some sort of suspicious activity this evening, maybe this elf is too. Theodore waits with bated breath as he desperately wishes that he hadn’t left his stave with Leliana. The servant takes a quick look around before taking a glass full of a thick reddy purple liquid from inside his jacket and downs it in a single gulp. It was wine. The elf had sneeked off to drink some wine. Well he can’t blame him, Theodore thinks with a sigh as he moves away from the door. As long as he doesn’t make a noise then this wine stealing servant isn’t a threat.

Just as this thought passes through Theodore’s mind, the sleeping mage lets out an extremely loud snore and he hears the the elf outside startle. Theodore looks over to Dorian’s slumped form desperately and leaps towards him and clamps a hand to the man’s mouth just as he was about to release another snore.

Theodore stays put with his hand over Dorian’s mouth as he listens with bated breath for the sound of someone entering the room. Luckily after some painstaking seconds Theodore hears the sound of footsteps quickly retreating back down the corridor and he sags against the wall, sighing in relief. Why are Orlesian parties so hard?

“As much as I normally enjoy an attractive man dragging me into a side room at a party, I have a feeling that we aren’t on the same wavelength.” Dorian slurs, as he tries to prop himself up but fails.

Theodore jumps, removing his hand from the man’s mouth at the first sound. How has his sleep spell worn off already?

“Don’t you dare get up.” Theodore says in warning as the man tries again to get onto his feet. Theodore reaches back instinctively for his staff which is, of course, not in its normal place due due to Josephine’s insisting he leave it with Leliana while he ‘mingles’. Just brilliant. He thanks his instincts that he had chosen to hide his rune embedded dagger in his boot as he steps to kneel beside the Venatori mage whose head is swaying from side to side.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dorian says rubbing blearily at his eyes as he slumps his head back against the bookcase in defeat.

“Why are you even here?” Theodore asks an onslaught of anger threatening to break through again.

“Us ‘Vints’ love a good party, why would I miss an event like this.” The man says, attempting a gloating smile but failing as his palour pales suddenly and the man clutches his stomach in an attempt to prevent himself from vomiting all over the polished wooden floorboards.

“Don’t you dare try to pull the wool over my eyes Vint. I’m really not in the mood.” Theodore says, leaning towards the man threateningly as he slowly draws the dagger from his boot.

“Well that makes two of us inquisitor. Shouldn’t you be back at the party, I’m sure you are being missed by your flocks of admirers.” Dorian says with what Theodore thinks may be a slight hint of bitterness.

Theodore just looks at the man, intentionally invading the man’s personal space in an attempt to intimidate. It’s something he has copied from Cassandra. A silence falls over the room and Theodore can hear the man taking deep breaths as he tries to focus his eyes on his surroundings, maybe he gave him a little too much of Sera’s brew but then again a little bit of sickness is less than he deserves.

“Kaffas. What did you give me!” Dorian groans as he tries to pull away from Theodore. Theodore quickly grabs his knife and in one swift move, pins the man’s arms above his head, using his sleeves to pin him helplessly to the bookshelf.

“I haven’t poisoned you, so stop being so overdramatic.” He says through gritted teeth as he drives the blade into the wood so that it wouldn’t be easy for the man to escape even if he was of sound mind.

“You didn’t answer my question.” The man slurs with a shit-eating grin on his face, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he is now pinned to a bookcase in the middle of the Winter Palace.

Theodore settles on the back of his heels and simply watches the man who seems to be unafraid of maintaining silent eye contact. He should kill him; right now before anyone else gets hurt. The man is probably here to kill him so why not return the favour.

Theodore likes to think he is a good judge of character, it is one of the only roles of inquisitor that he thinks he is any good at, judging a person for their crimes, seeing their potential above all of their bad decisions in the past. But this man, this man is hard to pin.  On the mountain he hadn’t killed him when he could have, but he was also a Venatori and had sent him into that weird terror induced daydream instead of helping him. But he had paused hadn’t he, or had he just imagined it because he wanted to believe that the man was good? But the real question is why he is at the Winter Palace and more importantly how is he at the Winter Palace? A Tevinter mage would never get an invite, and it was extremely obvious he was a Vint. No amount of Orlesian clothing and fake accents could hide that fact. Vints just have that air about them, especially the nobles.

“Why are you here?” Theodore asks simply, trying as hard as he can to ignore the threatening gleam in the man’s sharp grey eyes.

“I enjoy a good party as much as the next m-“

Theodore cuts off his sentence with a quick punch to the stomach. It’s moments like this where he wishes he had Cassandra with him, she is much more adept at the whole getting information from a captive kind of thing. He does relish in it a little bit, as much as he wants to believe that the man isn’t pure evil, he can’t help the anger he feels when he remembers the betrayal and bloody aftermath of their first encounter.

“Feel better?” Dorian says, not breaking eye contact with Theodore.

“A little.” Theodore admits simply.

“Glad I could help.”

There is a long silence while the two men simply stare one another down with nothing but the distant swell of string music and noble chatter reminding them of where they were.

“You’re here to kill me?” Theodore asks.

A moment of confusion and doubt flits across the man’s face before it is quickly replaced by his normal smirk.

“You’re here to kill the Empress then?” Theodore asks when Dorian doesn’t respond.

“No.”

The clock on the mantel piece chimes 11 times and Dorian's eyes flick nervously towards the door. The man seems suddenly nervous as his fingers play with the ends of his sleeves that are pinned by the dagger.

“You might want to check out the Royal Wing.” The man says quietly, as a strand of black hair falls into his eye.

Theodore snorts in amusement, it seems like the perfect place to set up a trap.

“I know you have no reason to trust me, but please, bring back up if you have to, but go to the Royal Wing. You’ll find what you need up there. Or at least you’ll find something important.” The man says, his eyes moving repeatedly from Theodore to the door. If the man is planning an escape then he is seriously deluded, but the look of fearful determination mixed with the doubt of a man who is betraying someone, makes him believe that he is actually trying to help. But why?

“Why would you help me?” Theodore asks, leaning in towards the man.

“I don’t know to be honest.” Dorian admits, flicking his head nonchalantly in an attempt to get the strand of hair out of his eyes. Theodore watches him carefully but finds no evidence that he is lying, but then again there is also no evidence that he is telling the truth. "Your not going to punch me again are you?" Dorian asks in an attempt to fill the silence but Theodore cuts him off with a stare that would be deadly to anyone other than the made sat in front of him. He doesn't know whether he is a fool, but just this once he is going to trust the word of the backstabbing Venatori mage and without saying another word, and ignoring the moans of the drunken mage, he leaves the room in search of the Royal Wing. I really hope I don't regret this Theodore thinks to himself.


	9. Part of the plan

The room is cold, Dorian thinks to himself, trying to focus on something other than the fact that he just full on betrayed his mission and the Venatori. Why had he done it, he mentally kicks himself as he remembers the inquisitors face, so achingly close to his, with his strong set jaw and piercing amber eyes which he hadn’t seen properly for the first time until tonight and my were they beautiful. Now Dorian doesn’t like to think himself among the kind of people who are awestruck by a person’s looks, after all, it is normally them being struck by his, yet this man had captivated him. He tries to convince himself that it is just the poison talking, but deep down he knows different. Alcohol can make you want to have sex with another person, not betray your cause. How can one man make him so weak?

Dorian can still hear the dizzying music of the ball in the distance but other than that all is silent in this section of the palace. His brain is whirring, trying to free itself from the thick mist that has rusted over the cogs of his mind where the alcohol had touched. What had made him say that? \he racked his brain for rational explanation, but he is just met with the image of the inquisitors piercing golden eyes which wipes every other thought away. He’d told him to check the Royal Wing, he’d told him to check the one place that Florienne had told him to keep the man away from. He’d betrayed his cause for this man. Why?

Florienne had purposefully told him to keep the inquisitor away from the Royal Wing so –

A jolt of intense concern hits Dorian hard in the chest, what if it’s a trap. Why would Florienne tell him to keep the man away from the Royal Wing if she knew his mission was to kill him. Surely she wouldn’t have to warn him that if she believed that he was going to kill him. It must be a trap. Has he just sent the inquisitor to his grave, and why does he feel so terrible about the idea of the man being in danger? Dorian shakes his head quickly, trying not to imagine the stillness of the man’s face as his mop of bright white hair lies stark against a crimson pool of his own blood. Why should he care? This is what the intended outcome for this evening was anyway. Maybe he’s just jealous that the man will be killed by someone else’s hands.

Dorian slips against the floor as he tries to get up onto his feet and curses in rapid Tevene as the dagger holds him firmly in place and he falls gracelessly back onto his arse. He tugs desperately at the dagger, for once not caring if he tears his sleeves or not, but the man has pinned him in such a way that he is stuck fast. He sends an electricity bolt through the daggers and immediately regrets it as it runs back through him, catching on his buttons and buckles causing him to jolt painfully as a lance of his own electricity magic works through his system. Of course the daggers are enchanted, the inquisitor is clearly no fool.

Dorian is still squirming helplessly when he hears the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps rapidly approaching the room. Dorian freezes, wishing all of a sudden that there was a spell to turn a man invisible. He would have to look into it once all this is over because this is the second time in a matter of weeks that he would give his soul up to be able to be invisible. The footsteps approach the door and  Dorian finds it strange that deep down he hopes that it is the inquisitor because obviously it makes sense that you would want a man who wants you dead returning for your incapacitated self. Dorian curses his minds own stupidity and sighs as he makes one last failed attempt at escape.

His wishes are not granted however and two tall and slim elven servants burst into the room. They spot Dorian immediately and draw daggers from behind their backs. One of them seems to be smiling, grinning like a Hurlock who’s found it’s dinner while the other seems beyond uncomfortable and their cheeks and ears are flushed bright red. Oh, Dorian thinks within an internal smile noticing how his current predicament may look like a little like a sexual encounter gone wrong. After all, this wouldn’t be the first time that someone has found him drunk and tied up to a piece of wooden furniture.

“Florienne said we might find you here.” The smirking elf says, his voice sounding like a natural sneer.

Dorian simply stares at the pair in slight confusion. Florienne had sent them? How in the maker’s name did Florienne know that – Dorian’s blood runs cold as earlier fears which he had cast off as stupid are confirmed. She had planned this. Which means, that her plan relied upon him betraying her. If he survived this, he was never going to live this down, Corypheus would have his head or worse.

“Indeed” Dorian quips back trying to hide his obvious discomfort. Luckily some of his mental faculties had already returned, it seemed that the poison wasn’t a long-lasting one.

“Florienne requires your presence in the courtyard promptly.” The other elf says, not looking him in the eye. Dorian smirks at the young elf and sighs dramatically, deciding to have a little bit of fun before his ultimate demise.

“Oh I suppose I could spare a few moments, but I don’t want to keep the Arl of Edgehall waiting. He has been waiting for my particular talents all evening. Especially the trick involving electricity ” Dorian says, waggling his eyebrows as he releases a small crackle of lightning from his fingertips and he chuckles when the younger elf looks at him with a mixture of horror and embarrassment.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” The young elf stutters, moving towards Dorian and begins fiddling with the handle of one of the daggers as he tries to pry it free.

“Also, you might want to wash your hands after touching that.” Dorian says with a sense of glee as the young elf drops the dagger as if it had electrocuted him and it clatters to the floor.

The other elf laughs at the young elf, clapping him hard on the back. “He’s only joking,” He says as the elf looks between Dorian, the dagger, and his hands in horror “the Arl isn’t even present tonight, he is just jesting with you.”

The elf still looks unsure and stands back as his friend helps a chuckling Dorian to his feet. Without giving Dorian a chance to even stretch the elf claps a hand upon his wrist, placing some sort of leather and metal laced bracelet on his wrist. Dorian panics as his body suddenly drains of energy as if he is being bled dry at his wrist. He takes deep breaths, turning his wrist over cautiously, very aware that every reaction of his is being carefully monitored.

“Now, now,” Dorian says, fighting to keep his calm façade as he holds his hands up and carefully reaches for the threads of the fade but comes up short. “Whatever have I done to deserve such a beautiful gift?” He says, his heart beginning to pound wildly in his chest as he realises he doesn’t recognise this particular enchantment and that he is now completely defenceless.

The younger elf looks at him almost guiltily from across the room but the other elf simply sneers and strolls confidently over to the now incapacitated mage.

“Corypheus wanted some sort of incentive to make sure you would return to us at the end of the evening.” Dorians' eyes flick to the dagger on the floor but the elf seems to notice and gives a small deep chuckle as he picks the dagger up off the ground and twiddles it between his fingers in a display of dexterity that was probably meant to intimidate Dorian. “You were one of his finest Dorian. He doesn’t want to lose you.” A burst of ice cold fear gathers in his chest. He just said ‘were’, as in past tense which means Corypheus had already labelled him as a traitor. Maker help him he’s going to lose his head if he returns to Corypheus. He’s seen what happens to traitors before.

“Does his godliness not trust me?” Dorian says, trying to subtly remove the bracelet and gaining nothing but a small burn to his fingertips.

There is a loud crash from somewhere within the castle followed by the familiar sting of fade magic which could only mean one thing. A fade rift.

“We need to go.” Said the younger elf nervously, placing one hand on the door handle while watching the two men carefully.

The other elf ignores him and takes two more steps so that he is now nose to nose with Dorian. “Let me get one thing straight.” The elf says, his sour wine breath stinging Dorian’s nostrils. “If you think that your pampered magisterium ass is ever going to see the light of day again after tonight, then you are sorely mistaken. Come with us and you may be granted a small mercy in that we will allow your family to live. Try and escape then we will ensure that you and your family meet the worst end that you can ever imagine.”

Dorian swallows thickly and tries to get as much distance between him and the elf who is practically radiating hatred as he possibly can. “It’s a good thing that I am coming with you then isn’t it.” He says, a waver slipping through his façade causing the elf to grin in triumph. He is gripped unnecessarily roughly and pushed out of the room causing him to stumble slightly. “I already told you that I am coming with you, this treatment is very unnecessary.” Dorian complains, as the elf repeatedly pokes him in the back with the hilt of the dagger.

Dorian is led, albeit a little painfully, through hallways of the castle that were seemingly off limits to the guests until he is brought to a large wooden door, behind which he can feel the crackle of fade energy getting stronger and stronger. Are they going to sacrifice him to a demon, Dorian thinks in panic.

The door is flung open to reveal a small band of people fighting demon after demon which are pouring from the glowing green rift which has opened in the centre of the courtyard.  The group whisk around each other, one scarily intimidating woman slicing and hacking at the repulsive flesh of the demons alongside a hulking Qunari who keeps yelling sexual slurs at the onslaught of demons. Closer to Dorian are two archers, a young elf he assumes is called Bianca as the beardless dwarf by her side keeps yelling her praises. A bit of a strange relationship if you were to ask Dorian but each to their own he supposes. All of them are moving in unison to cover the back of the one man that Dorian was surprisingly relieved to see. The inquisitor is amongst the thick of the battle, swinging the hilt of a sword which lights up with magical energy as it strikes into the flesh of a rage demon. His shocking white hair falls across his eyes as he fights and his jaw held in a determined expression that anyone with eyes would observe is incredibly attractive. Dorian and the two elves stand, momentarily stuck in awe of the group who work together like a well-oiled machine.

The elf shoves him forwards into the clearing and hands him the dagger which he had been holding against his spine.

“Complete your mission.” The elf hisses viciously into his ear signalling towards the white haired man who is leaning tiredly against his stave between the waves of demons. Dorian and the elves are still out of site of the band of fighters but he wants to call out and give them away.

“I- I am not a close range fighter.” Dorian whispers back, miming towards the bracelet clamped around his wrist. He cringes as the band burns hot against his wrist, was there more than just the anti-magic enchantment on this thing he wonders, running a finger along the woven strands of metal and leather. The older elf simply looks at him with a smile and leans in to whisper in his ear viciously,

“I’ve heard you’re a quick learner master Pavus.” Before Dorian can even blink he is pushed into view with the dagger held aloft in his hand. His eyes dart around the clearing, praying to the maker that none of the battling party has spotted him yet and his stomach sinks when he spots a pair of dark eyes, or rather a single dark eye and a patch trained on him.

“Boss.” Says the hulking qunari in a deep throaty voice as he slices effortlessly through the final demon.

“In a moment Bull, let me close this rift.” The inquisitor says, holding his hand up, his palm beginning to crackle in unison with the rift. A strand of bright green energy shoots from the rift, connecting the two as it begins to morph and pulsate. Dorian watches in awe as he feels the fade begin to pull away from the clearing. The inquisitor grimaces as he stretches his fingers wide and with a flourish of his arm the rift disappears from sight, strands of fade energy bursting outwards before fizzling into nothing. The sight ignited the eager scholar within Dorian and he stands still in shock trying to absorb everything he just witnessed; that was like no magic he had ever witnessed before!

“Boss, we have company.” The qunari adds turning his head to stare down Dorian.

The rest of the group spin in their positions to face Dorian, all of them shifting back into their defensive stances and the young female elf even goes to the extent of drawing an arrow at him. None of them move but even from this distance he has never felt so scrutinised in his life. And he has the inner circle group meetings with Corypheus to include.

The group simply look between him and the inquisitor, trying to judge whether he is friend or foe. The inquisitor also doesn’t move from his position, but the intensity of his gaze puts Dorian on edge. This man is unreadable. Is he angry, hurt, confused, injured, happy, sad or just plain bored, Kaffas how can this man maintain such a good mask!

He can feel the eyes of Corypheus’ elven friends behind him and he knows that if he doesn’t act soon that he will have lost his window entirely. Dorian’s palms feel sweaty against the hilt of the dagger, but he daren’t shift his grip in case he gives the game away.  

“Theodore?” enquires the scary looking woman, adjusting the grip on the hilt of her blood red axe. The man doesn’t respond and Dorian hears a quiet hiss from behind him ordering him to make a move but he knows that if he moves now he will be a pile of detached limbs before he can even make an attempt on the inquisitor’s life.

“Boss. Who is he?” The qunari asks again, taking a curious yet defensive step towards him. “He looks like-“

“He’s a Venatori.” The inquisitor cuts in and the qunari snarls, gripping his gigantic axe even tighter.

“Then why’s he not dead already?” The female elf asks, her lips also lifted into a snarl as she squints in Dorians direction and, if he’s not mistaken, she pokes her tongue out at him. He really does have interesting company.

“Yeh, why’s he not dead boss!” The qunari growls as he lurches forwards but is held back by the beardless dwarf.

The courtyard is still as the everyone patiently waits for the final word from the man himself. The inquisitor shrugs passively and with a nonchalant wave of his stave he gives the order they have been waiting for.

“Kill him.”


	10. Battle against what you believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know where to end this chapter so sorry if the end is a bit shit.

The words felt bitter in his mouth as soon as he said them but he couldn’t go back now. He closes his eyes as he waits for the inevitable shift of boots and weapons, but nothing happens, the clearing doesn’t stir.

“What are you waiting for?” Theodore says impatiently, aware that his voice is taking on a tone that he doesn’t recognise as his own. Bull lowers his axe, the metal clanking against the stone paving as a signal of surrender and the others quickly follow suit, well all but  Sera who goes to charge at the man despite the fact that she could have easily fired an arrow into his skull without a moment's warning. Bull holds her back with a hand across her chest and looks back at Theodore in confusion.

“You know him boss?” He asks. Damn that Qunari and his Ben-Hassrath training Theodore thinks.

Theodore doesn’t reply and looks across the courtyard at Dorian who still stands in the same position, his hands gripping his dagger awkwardly as if it were Bull’s heavy two handed axe rather than the tiny dagger he had used to pin him to a bookcase. Why was he not using magic, after all a mage doesn’t need a stave to be deadly? It’s what made him feel a little more comfortable when Josephine insisted he didn’t take weapons into the ballroom. Something was wrong here. Even from this distance he can see the sheen of sweat covering the mage’s brow and the bright and wide-eyed look of poorly masked fear. Was he meant to be a decoy, something to distract them while Florianne went into the ballroom to chop her cousin into little bits?

“I hate to interrupt this stare down session, but if we’re not going to kill the scary dagger wielding stranger, then can we at least leave before the scary dagger wielding cousin of the Empress decides to chop the leader of Orlais into little pieces?” Varric says with Bianca still pointed at Dorian.

Theodore sighs in exasperation and runs his free hand through his hair. He needs to kill the man and he knows he does. If he lets the man go again then he is just going to keep on returning until he completes his mission, which Theodore would put good money on it being to kill him.

“Why don’t we tie him up?” Sera suggests, unravelling some rope from maker knows where.

Theodore chuckles to himself a little deliriously, if that had worked the first time then he wouldn’t be here right now. But of course, his companions don’t know that they’ve already met before, let alone that they’ve already met this evening.

“Alright. You could just say no ya know.” Sera says pouting bitterly, chucking the rope into a nearby bush.

He follows the flight of the rope with his eyes. Ideally they should just kill the man and get it over and done with, but he still can’t bring himself to do it. Why can he not bring himself to kill this man? After everything that has happened why can he still not do it?

Theodore walks over to the man with as much of a calm exterior as he can muster and places the blade of his staff against the man’s neck and is only a little surprised when the man doesn’t retaliate and only shifts his grip on the dagger.

“I’m getting a strange case of déjà vu.” The mage says, gesturing towards the blade of Theodore’s stave in his signature theatrical manner, but despite his display of confidence, Theodore doesn’t fail to notice the slight shake in the man’s hands. Good to know.

Theodore grasps this small display of fear with both hands and he draws himself along the handle of his stave so that he can get face to face with the mage. “If you value your life then you will not say another word you piece of Venatori scum. One smart word and I will drive this blade through your neck.” He growls in warning, feeling a little more confident when he watches the man swallow thickly against where his blade is pressed.

“I-“ Dorian makes to try and defend himself  but Theodore cuts him off with a small jolt of electricity through his neck.

“You would be wise not to doubt me this time.” He hisses through his teeth.

 He has only met the man twice before and the man has a remarkable talent for making him regret his merciful approach. This time he would not regret his merciful approach, because this time the man will not be allowed to go free. Without consulting his group, Theodore gives a quick flick of his stave and encapsulates the man’s lower half in an ice block followed by paralysing his upper half with electricity just to be sure.

Without bothering to turn around Theodore can already feel the eyes of his companions on him.

“We don’t have time to deal with him now, Cassandra can you warn a group of inquisition soldiers that we have a prisoner that needs guarding and then meet us in the ballroom. It’s high time we pay Florianne another visit.” He says, turning away from Dorian. His companions jump into action, each of them casting a wary glance towards Dorian but choosing not to provide any comments. Theodore strolls confidently towards the door, trying and failing to put on a confident from as he leads his band of highly confused friends back into the Winter Palace. The door closes between Theodore and the courtyard and he desperately hopes he won’t regret leaving the man alone in the courtyard. At his order Cassandra leaves to find the nearest group of guards, turning off at a nearby corridor just as they approach the grand ballroom and Theodore carries on towards the sound of noble chatter and string instruments.

As they walk Theodore can practically hear the scribbling of the quill working in Varric’s mind and it isn’t long, can’t even be a few seconds after Cassandra departs,  that the interrogation begins.

“So glowstick, what was all that about?” Varric asks eagerly, speeding up so that he can walk beside Theo. Theodore doesn’t respond but simply smiles fondly down at the dwarf, hoping that he is managing to hide the anger and hurt that is currently burning through his veins. Varric would bleed the information out of him eventually, probably converting it into a novel of some description by creating characters with eerily similar names and characteristics to himself and his companions. But right now, he just wants this night to be over, and for once he just wants nobody to die.

“You slept with him boss?” The bull asks, taking his place on Theodore’s other side. Theodore chuckles softly, trust bull to jump to that conclusion.

“No Bull, he’s all yours to woo as you will.” He says, turning left down a passage that leads to the back of the ballroom where Florianne won’t see them enter.

Bulls laugh echoes through the corridor, “I just might boss, prison ain’t a bad place to have sex. It has all the basics, a wall, a bed, a floor, maybe even the bars of the cell if he’s lucky.”

“Ha!” Sera shouts from behind, making Theodore jump, “like you’re gonna get a snootypatooty mage like him up against a wall. Men like that want nothing less than silk sheets and golden bedposts and all that other shite.” Theodore chuckles again, it never fails to surprise him how good his inner circle are at judging a person’s background from a first glance. Sera had told him that she could tell that Theodore was noble-born just by the way he leans back on his heels when he talks which surprised Theodore as he had always assumed he had lost every aspect of his noble upbringing. He had been taken away to the Ostwick circle at the age of 6 which means he missed all of the lessons in ettiquette, dancing and manipulation. Bull, on the other hand, was the Qun equivalent of a super spy so he wasn’t surprised that he had figured it out quickly, and of course, Varric was their resident story teller. If he couldn’t get information about your past from asking you personally, then you can damn well be assured that he would find out through some other means. Most of them questionable.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why didn’t you kill him?” Varric asks as he tightens the string on Bianca.

“Well,” Theodore says, lowering his voice to a whisper as they approach the hidden entrance to the ballroom, “he could be useful. He could be our man on the inside.”

“Not to mention he’s pretty.” Sera says with a snigger which is silenced by a quick but probably painful jab to the ribs from Bull. “Ow you shite, your hands are like a friggin boulder you could’ve –“

Theodore holds up his hand signalling for quiet and Varric clamps a hand over Sera’s mouth before she can shout anymore swearwords at Bull. Slowly Theodore opens the door that leads into the ballroom and is happy to be greeted by the sight of his advisors who were waiting outside at their agreed meeting place. How they knew he would enter from here he would never understand. Then again he couldn’t even blink without Leliana knowing about it.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine greets quietly with a sigh of relief, “How good it is to see you. You’ve made quite the impression on the court, our standing in Orlais is looking good.”

“But you still want me to let the Empress be assassinated?” Theodore questions, keeping his voice low so as not to alert the nearby nobles who are looking up at the balcony where Celene is getting ready to make her speech.

Josephine looks flustered, a rare sight for the women who has such an amazing way with words.

“It’s just that. We just-“ she stutters but Leliana swiftly interrupts her.

“Inquisitor, we were merely suggesting that you should consider who would be best to rule Orlais, and who would be best as our ally. We would completely understand if you want to stop the assassination.” Leliana says calmly.

“Good.” Theodore says with a nod. “The assassin is the Grand Duchess Florianne.” Josephine gasps and quickly covers her mother with her hand but Leliana simply nod as if she had suspected it all along. “She is planning to make her attack during the speech, which –“

Theodore is interrupted by an eruption of applause and turns his head in the direction of the balcony to see the Empress stepping up to the balcony. She is not a woman who is difficult to lose, even among the see of elaborately overdressed Orlesian nobility. Her grand royal blue ball gown catching the eye at every angle and the elaborate golden lion attached to her middle back gave her the regal aura which could belong to none other than the Empress of Orlais.

 It’s too late, Theodore thinks, his pulse rate rocketing as he catches sight of Florienne approaching the Empresses right side.

“What would you have us do inquisitor?” Cullen asks his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Theodore turns back to Cullen, his jaw set in determination, no more innocent lives are going to be taken tonight. “Don’t let her anywhere near the empress.” He says, pointing in the direction of Florianne.

“At once inquisitor.” Cullen replies, giving a quick nod before swiftly moving towards a gathering of inquisition soldiers.

“Let all gathered attend.” The voice of the spokesman booms across the hall and Theodore watches as the Empress moves forwards gracefully towards the balcony which overlooks the dancefloor, her hands held in front of her in the stereotypical Orlesian display of nobility.

She begins her speech and the rest of the court is enraptured. Theodore slowly winds his way through the awe struck nobles as he moves towards the balcony, not taking his eyes from Florianne. There is small applause at something that she says and that is when he spots Florianne reach into her jacket and the glint of metal is all he needs to know. Theodore takes off into a sprint, knocking several horrified nobles out of the way as he yells towards the Grand Duchess, ordering her to stand down. Like a flash she fully reveals the two daggers she was concealing inside her gown and swiftly kills the two inquisition soldiers who had approached her from behind. With a yell of “Now!” from Florianne the ballroom erupts into chaos as numerous Harlequin assassins appear out of thin air to cut down soldier after soldier. Theodore watches on helplessly, blood boiling in his veins as he watches man after man fall to the ground. He had promised himself that no one else would die. He turns back to the Empress who is thankfully still alive and follows her eyeline as he catches the final flash of the material of Florianne’s skirt as she vaults out of the nearby window into the courtyard below. Theodore chases after her, drawing his stave and sending a blast of fire as two of Florianne’s soldiers attempt to block his path.

He vaults over the balcony, landing solidly on the ground below before sprinting towards the gardens. He can feel his inner circle hot on his heels as he screeches to a halt in front of an arrow that is pointed at his head. “Beaten at every turn.” Florianne gloats drawing the string further back, the wood of the bow creaking with the pressure. “Is it not embarrassing that a noble woman such as myself can defeat the very best of the inquisition single handed. I had told Dorian to keep you out of my way, but it seems he has betrayed Corypheus once again. So now I can take out two birds with one stone.”

He sees a glimpse of something flash through her eyes as she breaths in, preparing to let the arrow fly. For the first time Theodore sees her clearly, the madness behind her eyes, her desperation to be noticed and appreciated

“Please Florianne-“ Theodore says, holding his hands up in surrender.

“I am the Grand Duchess to you!” Florianne shouts back, anger sparking behind every word.

“Grand Duchess, my apologies. Corypheus will destroy this world and he is relying on chaos erupting in Orlais. I have seen the future and it isn’t pretty, red lyrium everywhere and demons spewing from rifts left, right and centre. Is this what you want?”

“Enough!” Florianne spits and, without even taking the time to listen to Theo’s warning, she swiftly backflips onto the nearby fountain. “The night is still young” she says and Sera gives a small yelp as the gates behind them are pushed closed by Florianne’s assassins. “All I need to do to recover, is to kill you inquisitor.” With this she lets an arrow fly and by sheer luck, and some quick reflexes on Bull’s part, Theodore is knocked out of the way of the arrow which whistles as it skims the skin by his ear. Florianne doesn’t look fazed however and nocks another arrow, “So good of you to attend my Soiree.”

She disappears in a cloud of black smoke and suddenly numerous Venatori mages and warriors begin to pour into the gardens and they are very quickly outnumbered for the third time this evening.

Theodore feels angry beyond words. This was all about pride, she was foolish if she believed that Corypheus would give her power, and she was selfish in thinking that destroying the world was worth it. “Come back Florianne!” Theodore yells into the air, sending an arcane bolt into the chest of a Venatori mage who had set its sights on Sera.

His party jump into battle, Bull roaring in delight as he charges towards a group of three soldiers and he hears a giggle from Sera as she leaps behind a bush before nailing a Venatori mage through the head with an arrow. Theodore charges through the crowds, sending the occasional blast of fire in the direction of approaching Venatori as he hunts down Florianne who he can hear yelling Curses in Orlesian from multiple locations around the courtyard. He soon gives up, as wave after wave of Venatori soldiers charge at his group. If he wanted to get at Florianne, then he would have to defeat her small army first.

Theodore has no idea how much time passes, but the fighting seems to be endless as no matter how many Venatori they cut down there is always one to replace them. Florianne makes a few brief appearances between waves to shoot an arrow or two at the inquisitor before disappearing back into the shadows. Theodore chucks another health potion to Bull who has blood gushing from an open wound on his shoulder and what looks like a nasty burn on his arm. It’s moments like this that Theodore despairs at Bull for not wearing any sort of protective armour on his upper half.

The others aren’t faring any better, Cassandras shield arm looks like its growing tired as she throws a soldier aside with barely enough force to daze them. Sera has run out of her jars of bees and other various toxins and is now having to rely on arrows alone, which are not a great weapon to use for close range fighting and as more and more approach, the soldiers begin to get into range to do some serious damage. Theodore has let himself become too distracted by his group and doesn’t notice that a group of soldiers led by a mage have circled him. The mage sends a bolt of electricity through him which paralyses him to the spot and Theodore lets out a cry as he barely manages to block a swing at his head from a nearby soldier. Another soldier takes a swing and it makes contact with his hip, his armour taking the brunt of the damage but Theodore lets out a small cry of pain as another blade cuts across his arm and blood pours out over his hand making his grip on his staff a little slippery. Theodore clenches his teeth together and with the last reserves of his mana, sends out a powerful mind blast which causes the men circling him to fall to the ground momentarily dazed. He shakes himself free of the paralysis and quickly gulps down a lyrium potion, that familiar sting working through his system as it gives him a temporary mana boost.

He barely recollects himself however before an axe is swung at him, he manages to dodge it but the edge catches his shin and he feels the familiar crack of something, probably a bone but his adrenaline is too high to feel the pain.

“Come and face me Florianne!” He bellows, taking a swing at the axe-wielding soldier and catches him across the face with his spirit blade before finishing him off with a burst of winters grasp.

The group surround him again and Theodore can feel his heart pounding in his chest, they were going to fail here in the grounds of the winter’s palace. How could they be expected to defeat a god if they couldn’t even beat a half-crazed duchess and her band of Venatori soldiers and assassins? Theodore grits his teeth again preparing to conjure a lightning storm when a large wall of fire erupts in front of him, blocking off his attackers. He steps away from the heat of the flames as hears the screams of agony from the men beyond it.

“Dorian what are you doing!” Florianne cries from on top of the waterfall.

Theodore turns around to see the all too familiar mage leaning weakly on his staff, blood pouring down his face from a cut on his eyebrow and one of his eyes is swollen shut but he still manages to give Florienne an overly confident smile and a wink as he sends a fireball in her direction.

“You traitor!” She screams at him after she dodges the fireball and lands on the side of the fountain right next to where the inquisitor is stood. “Corypheus will hear of this betrayal when I  bring back your body.” She says with a smile as she fires an arrow at Dorian who barely manages to duck in time.

Theodore is both entranced and confused by the man's presence and manages to snap to attention just in time to freeze Florianne to the spot before she can disappear back into the shadows. It also has the added benefit of moving her attention off Dorian who looks like has gone two rounds with an ogre.

Florianne gives out a small cry of shock as she is hit with the winters grasp and tries to move away but finds she is stuck fast to the ground and turns to look at the inquisitor with the expression of a rabbit facing the end of a hunter’s blade. He decides to make it quick and he swiftly drives his spirit blade into her chest.  The Duchess falls to the ground, a steady stream of blood pouring from her mouth which is open in shock. He looks over towards Dorian who is stood still, his expression of shock probably mirroring Theodore’s own. A loud battle cry from Bull grabs his attention and he turns around to see Bull and Sera yelling as they chase down several fleeing soldiers. He turns back to face Dorian, but the mage is gone. Again.

“What now boss?” Bull says with a hint of unsurety in his voice.

Theodore runs a hand through his hair as he breathes heavily, trying to catch his breath before he turns to face his group.

“Yeh, we gonna tell the Empress lady about Briala and Duke Shitspard or not?” Sera says, holding her elbow. He’d have to make sure that she got it checked out back at Skyhold. She would just let it get infected to the point of dropping off otherwise. He’d given up trying to convince her to let him heal her with magic long ago. She won’t allow any ‘of that magic freakiness’ anywhere near her.

“I think it is best that we tell her majesty the truth,” Cassandra adds, “We wouldn’t want any more attempts on her life.”

Theodore looks at his group, had they not seen Dorian? Had they not seen the Venatori mage defend their inquisitor against other Venatori?

“I-,“ Theodore says before shaking his head. “Cassandra, did you send guards to check on our prisoner or not?”

“Yes,” Cassandra says in confusion, “but more importantly what are you going to do about Briala and Gaspard.”

“We tell the Empress the truth. About everything, she can make her own decisions based on all the facts. Though it may be interesting to make use of the information on Celene and Briala that we found when we were investigating.” Theodore says and leads the group back to the main ballroom, ignoring the niggling feeling at the back of his head that was telling him that Dorian had once again escaped him. He hadn’t imagined it, Dorian had been there in the courtyard, he had heard Florianne yell his name. Hadn’t he?


	11. A battle of two sides

Tied to the spot for the second time in one evening, this must be some sort of record, Dorian thinks to himself as he tries to keep his train of thought off of the two elves lurking behind a nearby pillar.

“We don’t have time to deal with him now, Cassandra, can you warn a group of inquisition soldiers that we have a prisoner that needs guarding and then meet us in the ballroom. It’s high time we pay Florianne another visit.” The inquisitor says, purposefully avoiding Dorian’s eyes as he fastens his stave to his back and turns to leave.

Dorian wants to shout out to him, beg him, or at least a member of his party to stay, but he can’t. Even if he got up the courage to do so, his lips seem to be paralysed in the smirk that he had thrown the inquisitor’s way when the man had once again refused to slice through his throat with the blade.

The group begin to filter out and Dorian swallows thickly, hoping that one of them will stop at the last minute and remain in the clearing to guard him. Unlikely, but a man can dream.

Moments later, he feels the paralysis begin to fizzle out as the  tips of his fingers begin to twitch uncontrollably. It takes a further few moments before Dorian has full movement of his arms and he starts to shake himself out, starting at his fingertips and working up to his shoulder and neck. It is a practice he learned from Alexius that apparently increased his resistance to paralysis in the future. Probably utter bullshit, but it had become a habit.

“So, when we said to kill the inquisitor, an attempt would have been appreciated.” A voice says darkly right by his ear and Dorian straightens sharply as a hand lands solidly on his shoulder causing Dorian to stumble, the last of his legs breaking free from the ice.

“I told you I wasn’t a close range fighter,” Dorian says through gritted teeth as the elf runs a hand across his cheek playing with the tip of his moustache, his breath warm against his neck.

“You didn’t even attempt to fight.” The elf says, his voice remaining in the confident and sneering tone which he had used to address Dorian earlier. If he had his magic, Dorian would relish in sending mage fire running all along the man’s body, burning every plane of his skin until he was no more than a pile of ash. No one should have the power to remove a mage’s magic. “Were you too afraid to fight little magey?” He hisses, his tongue flickering the edge of Dorian’s ear.

Dorian scoffs, flinching away from him as he attempts to stroke his cheek again, “Afraid! Valuing my life does not make me a coward. Next time, if you want me to be successful in taking his life, then take this blasted bracelet off so I can burn him where he stands.”

The elf laughs loudly and Dorian has to suppress a shiver as his breath tickles the hair by his ear, “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Well yes. I would very much like to have my magic returned to me. That’s why I asked you to remove the bracelet.” Dorian says in a mocking tone, holding his wrist out towards the elf.

“We can’t remove it.” A quiet voice from his other side says, and Dorian jumps having completely forgotten about the other elf.

“Oh?” Dorian says, hoping that this just them refusing to remove it rather than because they physically couldn’t; he may not recognise the enchantment, but he had read about many that meant a bracelet wasn’t removable unless a specific person wanted it removed. In this circumstance, this was likely Corypheus.

“Corypheus told us not to remove it.” The quiet elf says, but the admission is swiftly followed by a small whine of pain as Dorian hears the sound of fist meet flesh and his heart sinks. His suspicions had been right, Corypheus wasn’t going to let him go and what better way to control him than to have his magic, which has been the very centre of his being for so long.

He hears the pound of fist on flesh again followed by more whimpering from the smaller elf.

“You stupid little prick.” The other elf hisses, each word punctuated by another hit. “You do not say anything unless I say so.”

Dorian winces in sympathy as the elf takes hit after hit, and decides to take advantage, quickly spinning around, holding the dagger firmly in his hand as he blindly slices through the air and is satisfied as the blade slashes across the flesh of the sneering elf’s arm. The sneering elf hisses and blocks Dorian's second swipe with a flick of his wrist, sending the mage flying backwards with a wave of power. The elf rounds on him, eyes alight with fury.

The elf was a mage. How had he not noticed? Dorian thinks to himself, eyes wide with fear as the elf looms over him, fire flickering around the tips of his fingers.

“Oh Altus. That was a big mistake.” The elf says with a threatening glint in his eye as he steps over Dorian, pinning him to the ground by straddling his waist. Dorian holds back a cry of pain as the elf places his hand against his neck, the palm of his hand singeing his skin as flames flicker from his palm. He presses harder and Dorian closes his eyes against the tears he can feel stinging his eyes. “Cry for me Altus. Show me that I am in charge here.”

Dorian hides a cry of pain with a sharp bark of laughter as the man removes his hand. “Someone has superiority issues,” he says struggling to hide his gasping breaths. The man smiles down at him and tightly grasps Dorian’s arm which still wields the dagger and with one small motion brings his knee sharply down on it and Dorian bites his lip sharply, tasting the familiar metallic tang of blood as he feels his bone give way and fresh pain bursts through him like mage fire.

“Corypheus wanted you returned to him, that doesn’t mean we necessarily got to you before you were badly injured in a fight.” He says, baring his teeth menacingly on the final word.

Dorian grits his teeth as the elf takes the blade from his grasp and draws it slowly down his cheek, stinging his flesh as it cuts cleanly into him.

“Corypheus will be so proud.” Dorian says with a hiss as the blade moves across his shoulder leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

“He will. He’ll be glad that he doesn’t have to punish you. He’s too busy changing the world for the better, to deal with an Altus scum like you.” The elf says, finishing his taunt by giving Dorian a swift punch to the gut which causes all of the air to rush from his chest. A smile flickers across the elf’s face and he delivers another punch slightly higher into his ribcage and Dorian lets out a small whimper as pain blooms through his chest. That’s probably broken he notes as he takes gasping breaths. He doesn’t want to give the man the satisfaction of seeing him in pain, but with no means to defend himself, he knows he can’t take much more before he collapses from the sheer amount of pain.

Dorian catches a glimpse of the smaller elf moving behind the sneering elf with a sword held shakily in one hand before another punch catches him across the jaw.

“Corypheus is a god, who do you think you are to think you can disobey a god?” Dorian doesn’t reply but simply smirks and he sees a flicker of anger behind the elf’s eyes before he punches him again, this time catching his nose causing hot blood to gush down his face. “After I bring you in I will take your place by his side. I will serve a god and he will give me anything I desire.” He says, delivering another punch, his eyes glossing over as he is lost to the fantasy he is creating and Dorian watches through tears as the smaller elf moves closer, now well within stabbing distance. But he’s not doing anything, Dorian thinks helplessly as yet another blow lands on his stomach and he lets out an accidental groan of pain.

“Do it!” He wheezes desperately between gasping breaths and the small elf freezes as the sneering elf stops with a fist in the air.

“Do what dear Altus.” The elf says, a sneer once again appearing on his face, “You can’t tell me you are actually getting off on this.”

“Please,” Dorian says weakly as the small elf is blocked from view by the looming body of the sneering elf who is moving his hands through Dorian’s hair causing Dorian to shiver in disgust. Dorian closes his eyes as the man’s face moves towards his but to Dorian’s relief nothing happens. The air is still for a moment before Dorian hears a gurgle and the elf’s body collapses onto him. He opens his eyes to see the sneering elf’s face centimetres away from his own, with his eyes staring back at him glassily.

 Dorian lets out a sigh of relief which quickly turns into a whine as the elf’s full weight presses against his battered frame and he wriggles pathetically as he tries to push the elf off. A small pair of hands help him to drag the body off and then moves to help as Dorian attempts to get onto his feet, only managing to get to his knees before giving up and collapsing against a pillar, taking quick and shallow breaths. Kaffas the elf had really battered the shit out of him, and not in the way he likes.

He looks over to the smaller elf who is stood over his companion’s body with a look of horror on his face that Dorian would recognise from anywhere.

“It couldn’t be avoided.” Dorian says gently through shallow breaths.

“I- I killed him.” The elf says with a shaky voice, not moving his eyes from the other elf.

“Yes, thank you for that.” Dorian says and quickly regrets it as the elf breaks down into hysterics, his sobs echoing around the clearing. “I mean- I’m sorry that was insensitive of me. What I meant was, thank you for saving my life.”

The elf looks over at Dorian, tears flowing freely from his eyes and he releases the sword weakly, letting it clatter dramatically to the floor. “He wasn’t going to kill you!”

Dorian lets out a small laugh followed by a wince in pain, “Wasn’t he? Because it sure didn’t seem like I was going to leave this clearing alive.”

"I killed him." The elf repeats, his eyes wide as he paces the clearing as he looks down at his hands. "I killed him."

Dorian watches the elf with sympathy, "He was not a good man."

"But I killed him." The elf says as he turns to Dorian with tears streaming down his cheeks. "I-" His final word catches in the back of his throat and is replaced by a small cry.

Suddenly there is a distant yell which he recognises as the voice of Florianne. The elf looks startled by the noise and quickly moves over to Dorian and grabs his wrist roughly causing Dorian to cry out in pain. He feels a metal blade move over his skin and Dorian closes his eyes as he waits for the biting sting he was sure would follow but is met instead by a rush of cool energy as mana and magic returns to his system. He takes a gulping breath as the energy washes over him, the sensation feeling like he had been dropped head first into a pond of freezing cold water after being set alight; utter relief. He sighs as the familiar tang of the fade burns underneath his skin and he looks up at the elf to see him nervously clutching the enchanted bracelet.

Dorian makes a startled cry as he is overwhelmed with relief and gratitude. he conjures a gentle wave of winter's grasp and lets it wash over his injuries, soothing them slightly. If only he knew healing magic, but no, healing magic was not a skill an Altus was supposed to learn, because Altus’ are supposed to be strong and feared he thinks, hearing his thoughts in his mother’s voice.

“Thank you.” Dorian says sincerely meeting the elf’s eyes.

“You can’t let Florianne win.” The elf says unsteadily as he gently releases Dorians arm and pulls him to his feet with the other, ignoring the mage's groan of complaint. “Please. You just can’t.”

Dorian looks at the young elf who is pleading with him with wide eyes brimming with tears. “If he wins –“ The elf stops himself by clasping a hand over his mouth. “Wait here.” He says before suddenly sprinting through a nearby door. Dorian leans heavily against the nearby pillar as he hears the distant shouts and explosions of battle. Why was this elf so desperate for him to stop Corypheus’ plans, surely this is what they all want? Sending Orlais into chaos was the first step in Corypheus’ new plan, why should he stop Florianne?

The elf bursts back through the door holding a wooden staff and he runs over to Dorian and shoves it into his hand. Dorian lets his magic flow through the staff, letting it focus in the crystal at the end and sends a small jolt of lightning which lands in the bed of flowers causing a small explosion of leaves and soil. Not powerful, but good enough.

“Why do you want me to stop Florianne,” Dorian asks curiously, watching the young elf’s face carefully, “we need to conquer Orlais in order for Corypheus to succeed.”

“I – I don’t know” The elf says quietly. “I don’t know if I want Corypheus to succeed.” The elf says, his voice becoming quieter and quieter as if he is afraid how Dorian would react. Dorian blinks back at him, shocked at the young elf’s admission. He thought he was the only one who had begun to have his doubts.

“You don’t want Corypheus to succeed. Why?” Dorian asks.

The elf flinches at the question and takes a small step back. “I don’t know why. I just don’t”

There is a large explosion that shakes the ground and the elf shoves at Dorian, moving him towards the gate that leads to the main gardens.

“Please. I’m not a fighter, I can’t stop her. Please.” He begs opening the gate for Dorian using the set of keys on his belt.

Against all of Dorian’s better judgement, he nods at the elf, giving him a small squeeze of his shoulder before he walks through the gate into the gardens.

 He hears the gate close behind him as he takes in the scene before him. To put it simply the inquisitor is losing. He and his small band are outnumbered by far with the dwarf and the messy elf barely managing to stay away from the soldier’s blades and the hulking Qunari looks worse for wear as he continues to hack and slash at the continuous onslaught of attacks from the four Venatori soldiers that are circling him. He catches a glance of Florianne who is watching from on top of the fountain with a proud smile. He searches the grounds for the familiar shock of white hair and his breath catches in his chest as he spots him. The man is surrounded by five soldiers, and Dorian feels his heart speed up in panic as he notes the pallor of the inquisitors’ skin; a clear tell-tale sign of dangerously low mana. He must be exhausted. He continues to watch as the man gives a cry of battle rage and sends out an impressive mind blast which causes the soldiers surrounding him to stagger backwards and the man takes this opportunity to gulp down a mana potion. Dorian is entranced. The inquisitor is an impressive man to watch as he dodges the swing of an axe and swiftly follows with a blast of ice before finishing the soldier off by driving a brightly glowing spirit blade through the man’s chest. Since when had the south taught their circle mages to fight like that Dorian thinks and he can’t help letting out a breath in awe. The man was a knight enchanter Dorian thinks at the sight of the brightly glowing blade. Impressive.

Suddenly though the inquisitor loses his advantage and Dorian holds his breath as he watches the man, barely dodging another axe aimed at his face. He should help him.

“Come and face me Florianne!” The inquisitor shouts, holding himself up by his staff as an axe glances off of his ankle. He is going to lose, Dorian thinks in horror as the men move in closer, the inquisitor now completely losing his ranged advantage, and before he realises what he is doing Dorian runs forward, ignoring every ounce of pain as he sends a wall of fire to erupt where the Venatori soldiers are standing. The men scream in pain as the fire burns them and Dorian sends a bolt of electricity into the mix to paralyse them so they cannot move. There is a voice screaming in the back of his mind, telling him to stop and let the man die so he can return to Corypheus victorious. But another voice drowns it out, one that tells him that this is the first good thing he has done since leaving Tevinter.

“Dorian what are you doing?” Florianne yells from on top of the fountain. Dorian stares up at her defiantly, before sending a small ball of fire in her direction which she manages to dodge by leaping gracefully and landing metres in front of Dorian.

“You traitor!” She screams, quickly nocking an arrow and sends it whistling past his ear. “Corypheus will hear of this betrayal when I bring back your body.” She hisses as she goes to fire another arrow but before she can release the bow string there is the familiar sound of winter’s grasp being fired and she freezes to the spot. She turns her head in panic to see the inquisitor moving up behind her, his face one of pure hatred as he draws out the hilt of his spirit blade. Dorian can’t help but feel a slight pang of satisfaction as he watches the white-haired mage drive the spirit blade through her chest and she lets out a single gurgling gaps before crumpling to the floor at the man’s feet.

There is a moment of silence that follows as the inquisitor catches his eye, his face completely unreadable as he waits for Dorian to make a move, but Dorian stays still. He watches from his safe distance as he watches the man shift his staff, is he going to capture him, kill him or let him go, Dorian has no clue. Dorian prays to the maker for the latter, because as badly as things are going at the minute, he still very much wants to live and the idea of a cold jail cell really doesn’t sit well with him as each and every fibre of his body complains with every breath he takes.

A battle cry from the Qunari catches the man’s attention, causing him to turn around and Dorian watches in amusement as the giant qunari chases any straggling soldiers who quickly vault over the wall in fright. Dorian takes this opportunity to quickly slip back through the gate into the courtyard and he falls against a nearby wall, leaning heavily as he takes deep breaths. He hears the confused voice of the inquisitor. He listens patiently, clutching at his side which sends jolts of pain through his system with every breath, and prays that he doesn’t send out a search party after him.

To Dorian’s relief it is not long before he hears the sound of several steady footsteps retreating away from where he is. He takes a deep breath, tears stinging his eyes as he tries to soothe his battered body with another gentle winter’s grasp.

Suddenly a strong hand grabs him roughly by his damaged wrist and Dorian immediately feels his energy bleed dry as he once again is cut off from accessing the fade and he looks down in horror to see the bracelet has returned to his wrist.

“I’m sorry.” The elf says, quickly leaping away from Dorian as he lashes out with his other arm in anger. He had done what the elf had said, but he had been foolish to believe that they were both on the same side. “He would kill me if he knew.” The elf says before fleeing.

Dorian tugs desperately at the metal and leather bound bracelet but it does nothing. This evening was a mess. He was alone and defenceless, in a world where he was wanted dead on both sides of the war. Corypheus would know that Dorian had betrayed him before the night was over; the Venatori soldiers would ensure that. But what really scared him was that he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he had betrayed the Venatori because he had figured out why he had felt so strange from the moment he followed Alexius into the Venatori. He didn’t want the future they envisioned, and he certainly didn’t want a corrupted magister to become a god. This moment of clarity was terrifying. He wants Corypheus to fail, so where does that leave him? Does this mean he is on the same side as the inquisition?


	12. Dancing around the subject

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A weary Theodore finally manages to find a place to think as he wonders onto a seemingly secluded balcony.  
> "Of course it would be you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: if you do not like gore, there are a few moments involving blood and broken bones. It isn't anything too intense but I just thought I'd warn anyone who needs it.

The talk had been a long one and emotions and nerves were running high as the inquisitor revealed to Celene everything he knew. He still doesn’t know how he managed it; he managed to convince the Empress of Orlais not to execute Duke Gaspard and had reunited her with Briala by revealing that she had been helping her behind the scenes. If someone had asked him to do that a year ago he would have laughed in their face, he wasn't known to be the most convincing person in Thedas. He couldn't even convince his brother to part with a single sweet treat when he was younger, who would think that he'd be able to convince the leader of a nation to forgive her former handmaid and spymaster. It’s been a long day and as Theodore walks back into the ballroom, all he can do is think of his bed and the bottle of brandy that is sat on his desk. It’ll be days before they make it back to Skyhold, so in the meantime an empty balcony and a glass of wine or ten will do.

Theodore reaches for a glass of wine and his heart sinks a little when, before he can make a hasty retreat through the nearby door, he sees his advisors approaching him out of the corner of the eye. How can there be more work?

“You have done so very well my lord. We are all very proud, this evening could not have gone any better.” Josephine says with a beaming smile as she hands him a glass of wine from the tray he had been reaching for and Theodore accepts with a suspicious frown.

“Yes,” Leliana says, with a smile of her own “Orlais is stable once again. Who knows how long for, but that is politics. The court seems to have taken a shining for you, I’ve even had a few members of noble houses offering up their daughters.” Leliana chuckles as Theodore gives her a look of disgust.

“Do not worry my Lord,” Josephine says with a giggle, “We are not looking to marry you off for the sake of the inquisition.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Theodore says in a light tone but inside he is taking a massive sigh of relief. He wouldn’t put it past his ambassador to organise a marriage in order to gain favour for the inquisition. She may look like sunshine, rainbows, and flowers, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know how to play the game. She had already organised a few meet and greets at Skyhold where there were a suspicious number of young noblewomen, as pretty as some of them were, he didn't want to be forced to be with a woman. He wanted to find a partner on his own, Varric had already teased him about being a secret romantic when he had drunkenly confided in the dwarf. He had even suggested that Theodore should take Cassandra on a date saying it would be hilarious that the two most intimidating members of the inquisition were secret romantics, he had said they'd make the 'power couple of the inquisition'. Theodore had hit the dwarf at this, knocking the man off his stool as he erupted into a fit of giggles. He wasn't intimidating, was he?

Cullen steps forward, trying desperately to dismiss a large group of ladies with the promise that he will return. “Congratulations inquisitor!” he says loudly as the last few girls disperse, “you are quite the talk of the ball.”

Theodore raises an eyebrow at Cullen as he looks over the man’s shoulder to the gaggle of girls who have gathered by the balcony and are still watching the Commander as they giggle behind their hands. “Seems you are also attracting quite a lot of attention Commander.”

Cullen sighs, running his hands through his hair as he risks a glance over his shoulder, “Maker’s breath they won’t leave me alone. No matter how many times I’ve hinted that I am not up for marriage they won't stop following me. There are plenty of other men for them to follow around, why me?” Theodore chuckles at this, it is funny how painfully unaware the commander is of how good he looks. “One of them even pinched my bottom!” He says in horror causing Leliana and Josephine to burst out in a fit of giggles. “It’s not funny!” He says, but even he can’t keep a smile off of his face.

“Anyway inquisitor. What we came here to say is that you are free to enjoy the rest of the evening. Bull and Sera are already terrorizing the guests on the dance floor if you wish to join them.” Josephine says just as a cry of “Horns up!” is heard from the ballroom below.

Theodore feels he could fly with happiness with the news that he is free. “Thank you, Josephine,” Theodore says, resisting the sudden urge to hug all three of them. There is just one thing he has to do before he makes his escape. “Don’t let Bull and Sera stand in the way of you getting to dance." Theodore says, and he can see Leliana smiling at him knowingly from the corner of his eye, "because I feel like the guests need a display of how well the inquisitions Ambassador and Commander can dance.” Cullen blushes and Josephine begins to stammer a string of “I couldn’t possibly” and “It would be unprofessional” and “I haven’t got the right shoes” before Leliana interrupts.

“What a good idea inquisitor. I will ask Varric if he can distract Sera and Bull for the next couple of dances.” She gives the inquisitor a knowing wink before quickly heading towards the dancefloor.

“I don’t dance.” Cullen says, the redness reaching his ear as he runs a hand across the back of his neck.

“Bullshit. I've seen you dance!” Theodore says laughing at Cullen, whose face now matches the colour of his formal jacket. “I can’t dance, yet I had to dance with Florianne earlier. You can, and Josie can. So enjoy!” Theodore says, giving the Commander a playful shove and Josephine a small wink before he turns and heads away from the pair towards the balcony.

He smiles to himself as he hears Cullen stammer an awkward dance invitation to Josephine. Oh how smitten they are, he thinks to himself as he opens the door out onto the balcony, choosing to ignore the pang of loneliness that he can feel pooling in his chest. The door closes behind him, cutting off the music from the ballroom and the silence and the fresh air surrounds him like a warm blanket on a winter’s night. A cool breeze washes over him and he takes a deep breath, relishing as the crisp air fills his lungs and Theodore leans on the railing, letting the calm wash over him. Tonight has been a very, very long night, he thinks to himself as he takes a long sip of wine before releasing all of the day’s anxieties in a long, deep breath.

“Of course, it would be you.” A familiar voice cuts in. Theodore spins round in shock, reaching for his stave which, of course, is no longer there. It doesn’t take him long to find the source of the voice, and he thinks exactly the same, of course, it would be him. It always seemed to be him. Dorian Pavus.

The mage is sat, leaning weakly against the railing with a large bottle of wine in one hand as he holds the other one to his chest. The man is a sorry sight; his clothes are torn and stained with blood, his face swollen and bruised and he is sporting a very swollen eye and a large cut reaching from the bridge of his nose to his jaw. There is a similar cut running across his shoulder and his has a red raw burn in the shape of a handprint across his neck. He must have been in one heck of a fight.

“What happened to you?” Theodore asks, surprised at the intense feeling of concern he feels for the man.

“Just a light beating, nothing to worry about.” The man replies, taking a deep drink from the bottle and wincing as he tries to shift himself. Theodore flicks his eyes over the man’s body as his healing training kicks in. The first thing he notices is the man’s arm which he is holding close to his chest, probably broken he thinks, noting the strange angle of the wrist. His shallow breathing also suggests a broken rib.

“Yes, a light beating.” Theodore says, placing his wine glass on the floor as he instinctively moves to kneel beside Dorian. He lifts a hand up to the mage’s face but the man he flinches away, failing to hold back a small whimper as he tries to shift himself out of Theodore’s reach.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to help you.” Theodore says, gently grabbing the man’s shoulder as he begins to weave magic into the cut but is interrupted when the man swats his hand away. "I said I'm trying to help you." Theodore says in disbelief as the man looks back at him defiantly. first stemming the bleeding then carefully encouraging the tissue to knit back together.

"And I said it's nothing to worry about. Definitely not something someone in your position should concern himself with." The man says before taking another sip and making a half-hearted effort at wiping away a drop of wine that had escaped from the bottle and was sliding down his chin.

"Are you always such a stubborn ass?second degree" Theodore says harshly as he holds the man's arm as he holds his hand over the cut. The man tries to wiggle free and Theodore pokes him gently in the side and the man lets out a small cry and falls still, "Nothing to worry about my arse." Theodore says under his breath as he lets more healing magic flow from his fingers. After healing the first cut he turns to fully face Dorian, "So will you let me help, or shall I just leave my soldiers to find you, because I assure you, if you don't let me heal you now then you will be left to heal naturally. Our healers aren't allowed to use magic on prisoners."

The man scoffs slightly, “Can’t you just leave a man to drink and bleed in peace?” Dorian doesn't meet Theodore's eyes, but his look of disgust lets Theodore know that he has won the argument.  

Theodore moves his hand and stares down at Dorian who is trying and failing to hide the amount of pain he is in.

“If you let me help you then I will let you drink in peace, minus the bleeding. How does that sound?”

He moves his hand to hover over the long cut on his face which is still oozing a steady stream of blood. “Like a lie.” The man says through gritted teeth as Theodore inspects the cut with his fingertips, it would have to be cleaned. “You won’t let me go. You consider me to be a threat.” Theodore chooses not to reply while he removes a handkerchief from his pocket and uses a small vial of alcohol from his pouch at his waist to sterilise it.

“This may sting a little.” Theodore warns as he dabs the cut with the handkerchief, the man hisses and once again tries to wriggle away but Theodore keeps a hand firmly on his shoulder to keep him in place. “You really are a terrible patient.” Theodore says as he uses his magic to search for another injury to heal. His initial diagnosis had been correct, broken wrist, second-degree burn to the neck and some internal bleeding, he also had a broken nose and a cracked tooth, but those weren’t always easy to notice at a glance. Whoever had found him in the courtyard had really done a good job of beating him into a pulp.

He moves around to the man’s other side and gently takes hold of his injured hand and is surprised when the man lets him. He draws back the sleeve and can’t hold in a small gasp as he sees the injury. The wrist is bruised black and blue and is sticking out at an odd angle and Theodore notices a small lump under the skin where the bone is close to protruding out. Theodore grimaces as he prepares himself, he lets a little numbing magic flow into the arm and hands Dorian another handkerchief for him to bite down on, the man looks back at him questioning and his eyes widen in surprise when Theodore tells him of its purpose.

"A little kinky." The man whispers suggestively before placing the material between his teeth. Theodore ignores him again, fighting back a blush in his cheeks. How can this man still be flirtatious when he is lying on a balcony possibly bleeding to death?

"You won't be saying that in a minute." Theodore whispers as he takes a firm hold of the wrist.

He’s done this procedure multiple times before and he still hates it. He counts down from five out loud and just as he reaches two he swiftly repositions the bone, wincing at the horrific crack noise as the two pieces of bone realign.

Dorian doesn’t make a sound but when Theodore looks back up at the man his eyes are shut tightly and by the straining of his jaw Theo can see he is biting down hard against the pain.

The rest is relatively easy and Theodore knits tissue and bone back together, checking twice to make sure everything is in the right place. Once the arm is fixed completely, Dorian uses his newly fixed hand to remove the handkerchief from his mouth and promptly hits him across the face with it.

“Bite down on this, he says! It’ll help he says! Kaffas were you trying to torture me! Is this payback for my torture spell, because that was an accident!” He shouts, gesticulating wildly. Theodore doesn’t reply but simply looks back at him smiling innocently choosing to file away the comment about the torture spell for later.

“Does it hurt anymore?” He says, gesturing to the hand which Dorian is using to push himself up into a more comfortable sitting position.

“Well no.” The man says pouting stubbornly, “but I’m sure there was a nicer way around healing it.”

Dorian tries to push himself up into a standing position but Theodore holds him down with one arm. “I haven’t finished healing you.” He orders.

“If healing me involves more of that then I want none of it.” He says, pushing weakly against Theo’s arm.

“The rest is easy so the amount of pain I cause all depends on how much of an arsehole you are going to be.” Theodore says sternly. Dorian slumps back down, looking at the inquisitor in a mixture of annoyance and confusion as the two of them fall into silence once again.

Dorian doesn’t make another sound as Theodore heals his nose, burns and bruises with ease. He pauses when he reaches the rib which is clearly still causing Dorian a considerable amount of pain if the laboured breathing was anything to go by.

He can feel Dorian watching him carefully as he ghosts a hand across the man’s chest checking for the source of the injury. Two broken ribs. Theodore takes a deep breath and tries to send healing magic through the thick fabric of the man’s jacket. But of course, the world just likes to make things difficult because his magic can’t reach through the material. His cheeks flushing violently at the thought of having to ask the man to remove his jacket and Theodore tries once more to work his magic through the material but it is no good.

“Something wrong?” Dorian says with a broad smile.

“I – er – need you to take off your cloak and jacket.” Theodore replies quickly, trying to keep his voice steady and professional but failing.

He hears Dorian chuckle quietly before the man’s hands begin to expertly work the numerous buttons and buckles on his jacket. “It is my pleasure.” The man says as Theodore helps him shrug it off.

Not wanting to make any more of a fuss, Theodore places a hand solidly against the man’s chest and lets his magic seek out the source of injury. Two broken ribs, hairline fractures so they were easy to fix.

“Good news is you don’t need surgery.” Theodore says as he begins to pour concentrated healing magic into the broken bones.

“Lucky me.” Dorian says with a grimace.

Minutes drag by and Theodore finds himself intensely focused on the ivy bush just beyond the window as he can feel Dorian eyes firmly fixed on him.

As Theodore feels the familiar pulse that means the final tendril of bone has laced back together, Dorian lets out a long sigh of relief and rests his head back against the railing with his eyes closed, his chest moving up and down rhythmically as he takes in deep unlaboured breaths.

Theodore finishes healing and watches the man carefully, his hand still on his chest as the heat of the man’s skin seeps through the thin material of his dress shirt. He relishes in the comfortable silence, the rhythm of the man’s breathing helping all of the tension of the evening bleed away. If you’d told him a few weeks ago that he would be sitting on a balcony with a Venatori mage in the most comfortable silence he had experienced in months, then he would have laughed and called you a liar. But here, right now, he is blissfully relaxed. Maybe this is foolish of him, and maybe the man is moments away from hitting him with another terror spell, but for some reason that Theodore can’t quite put his finger on, he trusts that this time he won’t.

“I don’t know why you’ve healed me but thank you.” Dorian says, breaking the silence and causing Theodore to jump. The man opens one eye and glances down at where Theodore’s hand is still on his chest and Theodore feels his cheeks flush and he quickly removes his hand. How long had it been since he had finished healing, certainly long enough for Dorian to notice he thinks, not daring to look up at the other man who he can feel staring at him in amusement. Of course he is finding this amusing, Theodore thinks as he shifts himself away, trying to create as much distance between them as he can without making the situation more awkward. From their few encounters, he has already noticed that the man seems to relish in making him feel uncomfortable.

“Don’t be embarrassed, I do have a nice chest.” Dorian says, and Theodore can practically hear the overconfident smile. He risks a glance over at him and notices the man shiver slightly. He deserves to be cold, a voice in the back of his head says as the sensible part passes the man back his jacket and cloak.

There is another drawn out silence as Dorian dresses himself and Theodore finds himself not knowing where to look and fixes his eyes once again upon the dangling vine of ivy hanging above an open window.

“Why have you healed me?” The man asks once he has finished reassembling his complicated maze of a jacket. “We’re not exactly friends you and I. As far from it as you can get actually.” He adds with a small laugh which just sounds a little off.

“Oh I don’t know, me and Corypheus were best buddies back in the day.” Theodore says quietly, smiling to himself as the man chuckles at his joke.

“Now that I would like to have seen,” Dorian says still laughing, “unfortunately, Corypheus doesn’t have friends.” His face suddenly darkens and his tone becomes quiet and serious as he continues, “just slaves and slaves who delude themselves into thinking they are there of their own volition.” The man sighs and goes back to his bottle of wine and takes a long drink before offering it to Theodore. Theodore takes it from him, choosing not to address the man’s shaking hands and takes a long swig, relishing in the fruity sting of the alcohol on the back of his throat. Theodore goes to hand it back but the man waves it away.

“If you hand that to me I will drink the entire bottle, and I’ve already been drunk once this evening.” He pauses, smoothing out his moustache with his fingers, “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

Theodore laughs “In my defence,” he says, pausing to take another deep swig of the wine, “I thought you were here to try and kill me.” He had felt a little guilty at leaving him tied up in a random room, but the man had escaped and tried to kill him again so he hadn’t felt guilty for long.

“You weren’t wrong.” Dorian replies almost inaudibly and Theodore stiffens, suddenly aware of how quickly he had let his guard down again, and how easy it would be to kill him right now, the man was a mage after all and mages didn’t need weapons to kill. “Oh relax, I’m not going to kill you now. Or ever, unless you give me a good reason to.” He says seriously, not meeting Theodore’s eyes.

Theodore looks at the man in confusion, had he heard him right, did he just say ‘ever’? Did this mean he was no longer a Venatori? This was when Theodore noticed for the first time that despite his lack of physical pain, his eyes held a sheen which was all too familiar; regret. His mother’s eyes had once held the same look of deep rooted pain when she had come to visit him in the circle. It had been her one and only visit, and even though it had only been a year since he had been outed as a mage, his mother looked like she had aged by about twenty, and this is how Dorian looks right now. His eyes struggling with problems which make him look old beyond his years. What had happened in the courtyard to cause such a massive change in him?

Dorian had never quite fit into the stereotype of all of the Venatori he had met so far and that had been why he had caught him so off guard on the mountains. Alexius had been desperate and a little mentally unstable, and the rest had just been deluded or downright malicious people who wanted to be on the winning side when the world went to hell. Dorian just doesn’t seem to fit that mould. Yes, he seems a little lost and maybe even a little deluded, but he had overcome that and he had saved him. He had defied an order from a crazy blighted god and had saved his life. That has to mean that he isn’t like the rest of them. It has to mean that he is capable of redemption.

“I’m aware that I will never be trusted,” Dorian continues, his face now unreadable and voice low and level, “but I can’t go back to the Venatori.” Theodore holds his breath in the silence that follows, the swell of the music and chatter of nobles the only thing that can be heard. This man’s world is crumbling down around him and if anyone knows what that feels like, then it is Theodore.

“Are you saying that you want to work with us?” Theodore says tentatively and waits with bated breath as Dorian looks up to meet Theodores eyes. Maybe it is too much to ask of him. He may not be able to return to the Venatori, but that doesn’t mean that he wants to join the enemy.

The man’s grey eyes catch the moonlight, its cold reflection speaking more than words ever could as the man nods slowly, “If you’ll have me.” The man says and Theodore blinks at him in surprise. The man has just chosen a life of imprisonment with the inquisition over freedom with the Venatori; if this is all a massive deception then Theodore is very impressed as the pang of sympathy in is chest has him falling hook, line, and sinker.

Theodore watches as the man takes a long drink. He knows his offer of working with them isn’t something he can actually offer, and by the look in Dorian’s eyes, he knows too. He wishes he could promise that they won’t throw him into a prison cell to rot but that would be a lie, and, Venatori or not, he at least deserves the truth.

Dorian sighs and gets to his feet with a slight wobble. Theodore follows him, holding onto the man’s arm, telling himself it was to make sure he didn’t fall because of any injuries he had missed and not because he too needed the support.

“You don’t have to hold me you know; I’m not going to run.” Dorian says as he moves towards to balcony with Theodore still supporting him by his side.

“You wouldn’t be able to run even if you tried.” Theodore says softly as Dorian transfers his weight from him to the railing. Theodore joins him, leaning against the cold stone balcony, ignoring the way the stonework grates at his aching forearms as he looks out at the starlit courtyard, a soft warm breeze washing over him and he sighs gently.

The darkness hides the blood stains well, Theodore notes, the earlier battle coming back to the forefront of his mind along with guilt. He could have – should have – tried to talk to Florianne, then maybe no one would have had to die. But no, in typical Theodore style he had made the wrong choice and people had ended up dead. His party had almost ended up dead. If it wasn’t for Dorian –

Theodore turns his head slightly to watch the man out of the corner of his eyes. Dorian notices and turns to face him, his grey eyes studying him carefully like he was trying to decipher a difficult text. “You don’t have to feel guilty you know?” He says, in a soft voice that seems out of character from the man he had spoken to merely moments ago. Theodore looks back at him confused and he continues, “The Duchess made bad choices.”

“Am I that transparent?” Theodore asks with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, ruining any of the remaining styling which Josephine had attempted to put into it before they arrived.

“Right now you are an open book.” There is a pause before Dorian adds, “it doesn’t do to dwell” with the 'I should know' remaining unspoken.

Theodore gives him a small smile. “It’s in my nature to dwell. So many people have died because of decisions I have made, how can I  **not**  think about how it could have been avoided?” Theodore looks over the grounds again, if Dorian hadn’t helped him out earlier, would he have killed him when he had found him on the balcony? Probably. Why does saving the world have to involve so many deaths along the way?

“What you need is a distraction.” The man beside him says, abruptly breaking the solemn silence which had fallen over them. “I have an idea,” He says, offering a hand in front of Theodore, “let’s dance.”

Theodore looks at him startled, now this was the last thing he thought the man would suggest.

“Dance?” He says, stumbling over the word as if it is foreign as panic begins to bubble in his chest.

“Yes dance!” the man replies with an enthusiastic smile. “We are at a ball after all.”

Theodore feels his cheeks heat for the thousandth time that night, “Dorian, you are injured.”

“A little weak maybe, but thanks to your talented hands I am well enough to dance. Also, I made a promise to myself that after I killed you, that I would have a dance with the prettiest man at the party.” He says with a smile.  “Of course I’d forgotten that the man I came to kill is also the prettiest man at the party.” The man whispers, leaning in so that his moustache brushes against Theo’s ear.

Theodore fights back a gasp, “you were very optimistic that you were going to complete your job and have time for dancing then?” Theodore asks, fighting to keep his tone light-hearted as his heart begins to thrum in his chest. His hands grip onto the railing of the balcony, his fingertips biting into the stonework; if anyone were to find out that he is thinking of dancing with a Venatori mage instead of capturing or killing him then they would eat him alive.

Dorian smirks, still holding his hand out with the offer of a dance. "I am a man who is aware of his own talents," He says in his confident bravado, “So, to dance or not to dance, that is the question.”

Theodore looks down at the hand which is being offered, every muscle in his body screaming at him to take his hand and to get as close to the man as possible, but instead he takes a step away shaking his head. This man is, or rather was, a Venatori who was ordered to kill him and this man is now his prisoner; it would be inappropriate.

Dorian interrupts his doubts by placing a firm hand on his waist and pulling his body so that their chests are pressed together. Theodore feels his heart rate speed up and he prays that the mage cannot feel it through his thick jacket.

“Too late, the decision has been made for you.” He says with a mischievous grin as he loops their fingers together.

There is a brief pause before the band starts the next song and Theodore takes a sharp breath as the mage leans in to whisper in his ears. "Just relax." His breath feels warm against the side of his face and Theodore feels a strange swell of emotion rise in his chest.

Dorian holds him firmly in place and slowly begins to lead Theodore around the balcony. This melody is slow and flows through the cool night air through the open window as they dance around in small circles. He is careful not to look into the man’s eyes but can't help taking in the scent of spices that radiates from the man like an exotic aura and Theodore has to stop himself from resting his head against the man’s chest as they continue to glide around in slow circles.

It is nice, Theodore thinks to himself as he lets himself be led. Dorians has twined their hands together, supporting him as he guides them both. The music swells and Dorian holds a hand above Theodores head and spins him causing Theodore to smile. This is the kind of dancing he enjoys, he thinks to himself, choosing to ignore the absolute absurdity of the situation. There is no pressure to impress and no crowd watching and waiting for him to fail.

The song comes to an end all too quickly but neither of them pull away, simply continuing the dance until Dorian has him pressed up against the balcony.

“This is a nice way to say goodbye to my freedom.” Dorian says almost inaudibly as he removes his hand from Theodore’s waist, “Thank you for indulging me. You didn’t have to, and I appreciate that.” Theodore pulls away and watches as a glimpse of hurt flashes across the other man’s face.

Before he can say anything in response the doors to the balcony crash open and Leliana enters with her daggers drawn, closely followed by two inquisition soldiers.

“Inquisitor!” She yells, holding a dagger to Dorian’s throat and the man simply rolls his eyes. “A guest informed me that you were fighting with a man on the balcony.” She looks between Theodore and Dorian suspiciously, probably noting their lack of injuries, well at least Dorian looked a little beaten up thanks to his bloodied and torn clothes.

“Fighting? Remind me to enquire about some dance lessons while I’m in jail.” Dorian says, ignoring the fact that two more blades are placed at his throat as soon as he starts talking. Theodore sighs before turning to fully face Leliana.

“I'll give you the full explanation later, but for now: this man is Dorian Pavus, a supposed former member of the Venatori. He was sent here to kill me and has already attempted to twice. In the battle against Florianne we were very close to losing, and Dorian helped.” Theodore stops, giving them time to let the information sink in. If Leliana was shocked she certainly didn't show it. The woman was scary that way.

“Then what do you want us to do with him?” Leliana asks, but Theodore knows it’s simply a formality; a show of status in front of his soldiers. Leliana would not let a member of the Venatori walk free. If he let Dorian go, she would probably send assassins after him or order some sort of accident to occur. Dorian will be safer where he can be able to keep an eye on him, Theodore thinks to himself, a little startled at the wave of protectiveness that rushes through his chest which only heightens as he watches a nearby guards shift, his eyes trained hungrily on Dorian as if ready to strike down the man at a split seconds notice.

“We take him back to Skyhold to be officially judged.” Theodore says as he looks back at Dorian who is smiling blankly back in his direction. “Tie him up and put him in my carriage so I can keep an eye on him on our journey back to Skyhold. Leliana, I’m going to make Bull ride with you, Cullen, and Josephine. I know how much he hates Vints.” Theodore orders and watches guiltily as his soldier’s roughly force Dorian’s hands behind his back and bind them before pushing him out of the door. 


	13. Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter. Super sorry about the long wait but life kind of happened. I have been living in stress city for the last few weeks and I've been wanting to write but it just hasn't been happening. Hopefully can catch up with it now that I'm free for a week.

The last song is called and the inquisition representatives are relieved as they watch the last of the guests exit the gates. It had been a long evening and luckily, other than the attempted assassination of Empress Celene, Florianne’s betrayal, Celene and Briala’s reunion and Gaspard’s banishment, not much had happened. Oh and Theodore had danced with a Venatori mage who had tried to kill him but had then saved him. To Theodore that seemed to overshadow the other events of the evening.

“You alright boss?” Bull says causing Theodore to jump. For such a huge guy, Bull could certainly be stealthy. Theodore sighs as Bull looks at him in concern. “Politics not your thing?”

“Politics, dancing, assassination plots. This entire night is the very definition of ‘not my thing’”. Theodore chuckles as the group make their way through the gates to where their carriages are waiting for them.

The Iron Bull laughs and slaps Theodore on the back causing him to stumble forwards. “Well, there’s a table at the tavern with our name on it when we get back. Varric’s already sent men ahead to reserve it for us.”

Theodore smiles, not wanting to admit to the group that he would rather be alone for a while when they return. He can probably have at least one drink with them. Bull places a hand on Theodore’s shoulder and suddenly he feels his fingers dig in painfully into his shoulder.

“Bull?” Theodore complains, trying to shrug the qunari off without success. Bull responds with a low grumble in the back of his throat.

“What is the vint doing here?” He says roughly before releasing his grip on Theo’s shoulder.

Theodore follows where Bull is looking to see the two soldiers from earlier standing either side of a very tired looking Dorian. Theodore hears the grating noise of a sword being drawn and quickly moves in front of Bull who is tensed ready to charge with his sword in his hand.

“Bull stop!” Theodore says firmly, holding his hands up in front of Bull who is still looking past him towards their carriages and the prisoner. Bull doesn’t move, but doesn’t relax either and looks at Theodore in confusion. “He’s our prisoner, he’s no longer a threat.” Theodore says calmly and slowly.

“He tried to kill you.” Bull growls.

“I know.”

“He’s a mage from Tevinter.” He continues, his eyes dark with hatred.

“I know.” Theodore says watching Bull carefully.

“He’s a Venatori mage from Tevinter.”

“I know.” Theodore repeats, taking a deliberate step towards Bull, the sword only an inch away from his collarbone.

“Then why aren’t you letting me skewer him like a shish kebab?” Bull says, adjusting his grip on his sword.

“Earlier you said you wanted to fuck him in a prison cell.” Theodore says with a light chuckle, trying to use humour to ease the tension which had suddenly spiked in the courtyard. He could see the rest of his companions watching them carefully from behind Bull. No one wants to get into a fight with Iron Bull but he knew that they would if they had to.

“Earlier was before I became a pincushion for a corrupted magister’s little minions, and the pretty ones are always the worst.” Bull says, and for the first time since they met, Theodore felt worried that he was about to become Bull’s pincushion.

Theodore doesn’t move his eyes away from Bull and instead adjusts his position in an attempt to block the qunari’s line of sight. He knows Bull is no animal, but maybe if he can’t see Dorian, then he will calm down a little. Anger can cloud judgement after all, and even someone as intelligent and perceptive as Bull isn’t past that. Standing on his tiptoes, Theodore manages to look Bull directly in the eye, and the qunari looks back at him a little startled and takes a step back.

“Trust me Bull?” Theodore asks in hope.

The question is followed by a short moment of silence before Bull gives a loud sigh and sheaths his sword. “You better be right boss, because I’m really in the mood to kill some vints.” He says and the tension immediately bleeds from the clearing as the rest of his companions resume their chatter and move past them towards the carriages.

Theodore smiles at Bull knowingly, “don’t worry, Leliana informed me of a few bands of Venatori out in the Hinterlands. I could use a bit of help.” Bull grins broadly at this news, his good eye gleaming with satisfaction as he gets lost in his imagination. Probably already planning different ways in which to behead them.

Theodore chuckles and leaves Bull to the mercy of Sera who is already prodding him in the side, trying to break him free from his day dream of slaying ‘vints’.

Theodore walks behind the two of them as they make their way to the carriages and releases a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding once everyone but himself and Cullen are safely inside.

Cullen walks over to Theodore, his hand rubbing the back of his head nervously. “I wanted to say thank you.” He says, interrupting the silence which had replaced the chaos which seemed to follow the inquisition wherever it went.

Theodore looks at the commander in confusion. “You don’t have to thank me commander, I just did my job. You did just as much as me, if not more.”

“That’s-“ The commander pauses, his cheeks flushing a light pink. “Yes well that’s not really what I was thanking you for but thank you for that as well.” He pauses, shifting uncomfortably on the ground and Theodore finds himself having to suppress a chuckle. He would never get over how such a tough and brave man as their commander could get so flustered over a simple thank you. “What I meant to say,” he continues with a lowered voice so that the rest cannot hear, “is thank you for convincing me to ask Josephine for a dance.”

Theodore looks at Cullen in shock for a few moments before a wide smile spreads over his face. Was Cullen really thanking _him_ for dancing with Josephine? “On first name basis already, things must have went very well.” Theodore teases and the commander splutters but Theodore cuts in before the man tries to make some sort of half-hearted excuse as to why he didn’t call her by her official title. Cullen was nothing if not a stickler for ranks and rules. “If I were you commander, I would thank the lady herself rather than me. I’m sure she would appreciate that.”

Cullen looks down at his feet which are shuffling restlessly on the stone pathway. “I think I will.” He says with a small smile. Theodore gives the commander a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder before turning around towards his own carriage where he can already hear Varric and Sera bickering about which type of bow is better.

“One more thing inquisitor.” Cullen says and Theodore turns to see the commander back with his usual serious all-business demeanour back in place. “The prisoner-“ he says, motioning towards Dorian who can be seen picking at his nails as he is sat wedged between two soldiers. “What happened between the two of you on the balcony?”

Theodore swallows thickly as he tries to keep a steady expression. “Has Leliana not informed you?” He says in a tone that couldn’t fool a nug.

“Leliana informed us that you were seen fighting but when she arrived neither of you were injured, and seemed to be rather –“ The commander pauses, the pink flush returning once again, “close.”

“I assure you,” Theodore says slowly, trying to buy his brain some time to come up with a decent excuse. He can’t just admit that he had literally been dancing with the enemy. “I assure you that there had been a fight, but by the time that our soldiers arrived I had already won and was holding him in place to ensure he would not escape again.”

“Right.” Cullen says, clearly not believing a word of the story. “Just be careful inquisitor, mages from Tevinter are very different from mages here and Corypheus won’t be happy that we have taken yet another of his followers.”

“I know.” Theodore says with a nod of understanding and the commander gives him a small salute before he leaves him to head towards his own carriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how short this chapter is, it's a filler that I wrote just to get me back into the swing of fictional writing. Hope you enjoy xx


	14. A New Home

The carriage ride was long and sweaty and the carriage reeked of testosterone, body odour and armour grease but Dorian doesn’t complain. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, more that he felt that if he opened his mouth he would find an arrow between his eyes before he could utter one syllable, and he wasn’t sure who it would come from first, the story-telling dwarf who kept trailing his beady eyes over him, or the loud elf with hair which looked like it had been clipped by a druffalo farmer. He’s just relieved that the Qunari wasn’t sharing their carriage, not just because of the fact that everyone was already pretty squashed together, but more because he would like to survive the journey. He had watched, thankful for the large distance between them, as the inquisitor tried to stop the hulking qunari from charging at him. The ridiculous man had even placed himself in front of the giant sword and Dorian wasn’t sure whether he should feel flattered by the gesture or feel concerned for the man’s wreckless nature. Did he have a death wish? Because placing yourself in front of a Qunari’s sword certainly suggests a death wish. 

He had hoped during their journey to his prison destination to gain an explanation from him, but the man in question was now purposefully avoiding eye contact and was pressed so far into his seat in an attempt to not touch Dorian, that Dorian thought he might soon fall right through the back of it. He knows nothing has changed between them, the man had healed him and they had danced and now Dorian was his prisoner. A prisoner without magic. What a wonderful predicament to be in. A little acknowledgement would be nice, but why would the leader of the inquisition acknowledge a simple prisoner; he probably has hundreds.

After several days of stopping and starting and silence on Dorian’s part, the carriage finally began to slow and the sound of a horn erupting loudly in the distance could only mean one thing; they had arrived. The inquisitor had been fidgeting in his seat for the last few miles and before the carriage had even rattled to a complete stop, carriage finally rattled to a stop, he leapt out of the door and Dorian scoffed, feeling a little offended at the man’s desire to get away.  

A loud crowd of voices could be heard approaching the doors, and the guards who had been stationed at either side throughout the entire journey, tightened their grip on his arms. Dorian hisses in protest as he feels a set of nails sink into the skin of his bicep a little too tightly, but he choose to hold back any smart remarks as he catches a glimpse of the ragged elf’s hands twitch towards her bow and arrows.

Outside of the carriage a crowd of men and women have gathered, all of them gesturing towards the inquisitor frantically, holding out pieces of paper and other such things which required his attention. Dorian watches through the carriage window as a group of soldiers move through push gently through the crowd towards the inquisitor, one of them dragging a large set of iron shackles. They were to be his greeting party then, wonderful!

“Ser!” The guards yell in greeting and Dorian shakes his head as the men and women, all dressed in the armour of the inquisition, jump into a ridiculous salute. He wasn’t that special. Handsome for a southerner, but not that special.

After the guards have finished their salutes, the elf and the dwarf come to life, both of them jumping out of the carriage to stand by the inquisitor’s side. The elf, in particular, had made a particularly dramatic exit, slamming the door behind her with enough force to make the whole carriage shake and many of those gathered in the crowd take a cautious step back at the sight of her.

“We won’t be putting him in a prison cell.” He hears the inquisitor interrupt a couple of soldiers who are holding out clipboards. The soldiers try to argue with him, pressing the clipboard into his hand and pointing at something written on the parchment. The inquisitor ignores the clipboard and repeats his command, his voice taking on an edge that Dorian had never heard before. It was more authoritative, low and a little bit sexy and if Dorian had been standing, it probably would have made him feel a little weak at the knees. He should use that voice more often, Dorian thinks before shaking away his unsavoury thoughts before he gets lost in a cloud of lust.

“We have assigned him a secure room in the tower just below Leliana’s office.” The inquisitor continues and this triggers a loud outcry of protests from the soldiers, with the loudest voice being the female elf who swears at him profusely. Clearly they weren’t happy with the decision and he hears a bitter snort from the guard next to him.

“I swear if he thinks about hiring another Venatori, I’m gonna leave.” The man hisses to his companion. The guard on Dorian’s other side grumbles in agreement.

“I was made to bring the magister his tea the other day. The cheek of it!”

Dorian feels like he has been dunked headfirst in an ice cold lake. Magister? It couldn’t be. After all this time thinking that Alexius had been tortured beyond recognition and left to rot, he was actually here. And being served tea! Unless they use tea as a torture method, which he wouldn’t put it past the southerners to create a tea so disgustingly bland that it could be used as a torture method, then that meant he was being treated reasonably well. And had the guard just said they had hired a member of the Venatori? Was Alexius working for them?

“Is he a prisoner or a friggin guest! Cuz your treatin’ him just like that other pompy magey man from Tevinter!” He hears a harsh voice yell and he watches as the scraggly elf waves an arrow in front of the inquisitors face threateningly, with her nose scrunched up in anger.

Dorian couldn’t believe what he was hearing and has to remind himself to breathe as one of the guards makes a comment that he has gone a little pale and prods him painfully in the side. Alexius, it has to be.

“I don’t suppose one of you kind gentlemen could inform me the name of the other Venatori that you hold prisoner?” Dorian asks, amazed that he manages to keep his tone both steady and impartial, because all he wanted to do was grab the guard by the shoulders and shake him until he told him everything he knew about the state of Magister Alexius. All this confusion and he could finally have answers, because there is only one person he wants to see right now, and that is his mentor who he followed into this whole mess. He wants him to guide him like he used to, to instruct him on their next move and reassure him that what he has been doing is right. The man had seen him through so much, he had accepted him when no one else had and right now that’s what Dorian craves. Acceptance in a world which seems to fight him at every turn.

“Magister Lexinius?” the guard says unsurely, the name sounding crass in his thick Fereldan accent.

“It was Alexius wasn’t it?” The other guard corrects him.

“Yeh Alexius. Why, you know him?” He asks, prodding him in the side again. Why did they always insist on poking him?

Dorian doesn’t reply but watches out of the window as the inquisitor stands in front of the still wildly gesturing elf, his hands held up in front of her like he is trying to calm a bucking horse.

“What are you smirking at?” The guards beside him says with a growl, his hand squeezing his arm painfully in warning. Dorian still chooses to remain silent, if they knew that he knew Alexius, they may prevent him from seeing him. Then again the inquisitor is an intelligent man, he would never let two Venatori prisoners in the same room together. Dorian’s heart sinks a little at this realisation but it doesn’t fully quench the happiness he feels at discovering that Alexius is alive and well.

“Sera be quiet.” He hears the inquisitor order loudly and the elf sticks her tongue out at him followed by a two finger salute before she stamps off in the opposite direction with the dwarf following closely behind, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Now.” The inquisitor says quietly, turning to face the remaining guards his face slightly flushed. “Just take our prisoner to the empty room I told you about, station four guards outside and wait until I instruct you further.” He takes a deep breath and walks away muttering something neither Dorian nor the guards can make out.

The door of the carriage opens as soon as the inquisitor is out of sight and the guards force Dorian out of the door and the pair of guards stationed outside push him roughly, face first against the side of the carriage and they secure a heavy set of manacles on his wrists. If he had his magic, Dorian thinks in anger as one guards slams his face against the metal door again, then these men would be piles of ash scattered all over the courtyard.

“Move!” Orders a guard with a particularly thick ginger beard as he tugs sharply on the chains attached to his manacles. Dorian stumbles backwards and is met by the shove of a hand against his shoulders and he is pushed in the direction of a grand set of stone steps.

Dorian takes a deep breath, relishing in the first body odour free breath he has taken in days, not that the current scent abusing his nostrils is much of an improvement, but at least it is a change. For the first time since the carriage came to a stop, Dorian can fully take in the grandeur of the fortress of Skyhold. He thought it would be grander, Dorian thinks as he is shoved up a couple more steps and he scrunches his nose up in disgust; the fortress is very Southern and was much more impressive from a distance. Up close it is dirty, bland, stony and has the distinctive smell of horse and hart faeces. It’s almost as if they were desperately trying to keep with the southern stereotype of being barbarians who dwell in the cold and the dirt.

“Faster.” Another of the soldier orders, tugging violently on the chain so that Dorian is sent sprawling forwards and catches his knees on the stone steps.

“I would move faster if you weren’t constantly yanking on my chains. It makes staying upright rather difficult.” Dorian retorts, yanking back on the chains slightly as he attempts to wipe himself down from the fall. The guard in front doesn’t reply but a pair of hands land solidly on his shoulders and he is pushed up the rest of the stairs and into the main hall. The main hall itself isn’t much better than the courtyard and looks like it is still under construction. Other than a plush red carpet, which Dorian must give to them was rather nice in quality, there was not much to the main hall other than a gaudy looking throne in the shape of the chantry’s sunburst logo.

He didn’t get long to analyse the choice of interior decoration however, as he was quickly dragged through a nearby door and shoved up yet another set of steps which seemed to wind on and on, leading him further and further into darkness. The shadowy stonework walls seemed to suck the light out of the place and by the time he reached the top of the first set of stairs he could barely see a few feet in front of him. Luckily on the floor they arrived on there were a few candles burning. There was also a window in one of the crevices between the bookcases, but like the rest of the windows in this tower, it had been hastily covered. Looking around, there are numerous bookcases, each holding a couple of books. This must be the inquisitions library, which has a very disappointing number of books for such a powerful organisation. Dorian was shoved along, not given enough time to check out even a single title on the shelf. They drag him to a halt in front of a rugged looking door with flaking woodwork and rusty hinges and Dorian prays silently that this is not his room.

His prayer, however, is ignored once again as one of the guards removes a large set of keys from his belt and sets about opening the door. I think I would prefer an iron barred cell, Dorian thinks to himself, crinkling his nose yet again as he is met by the pungent smell of rotting wood, dust and damp as the door to room swings open, its hinges wailing in protest. He squints his eyes in an attempt to get a good look at the room, but with neither windows nor candles to light it, it was looking to be very gloomy indeed.

“In.” grunts one of the soldiers and Dorian finds it fascinating how even the smallest words he manages to butcher with his harsh Southern accent. Dorian hesitates in the doorway, for all he knew they could be keeping a bear in there or a deepstalker or, judging by the smell, a wild druffalo who has been living in its own filth for years.

“In!” The guard repeats, shoving Dorian into the room causing him to stumble forwards with the grace of said druffalo. Two guards follow him in, both holding candles and they move to place them on the table which is set at the centre of the room. In the flickering light of the candles, the room is flushed in an eerie orange glow, exaggerating each crack and crevice in the stonework of the walls. On the wall furthest from the door is what looks like a window which has, once again, been hastily covered by a ratty looking blanket. Underneath the window sill is a small makeshift bed with a mattress stuffed with what looks like hay which has been taken straight from a barn. That’ll be where the horse smell is coming from, Dorian notes.

Another guard walks into the room and chucks a pile of clothes onto the bed before beckoning the other guards to follow as he leaves the room. The two remaining guards look Dorian up and down before promptly following, slamming the door behind them.

Dorian stands in the middle of the room, not wanting to venture into the dark and cold crevices which lay outside the light of the candles. He stands watching, momentarily mesmerised by the flame of the candle which licks the air soothingly, he would do this as a child, sit and watch flames as he conjures them one by one so that they balance on the tips of his fingers. He looks down at his wrist in disgust, the orange light of the candle giving the bracelet an eerie sinister glow, or maybe that was the bracelet itself, who knew what enchantment it held. He tries holding the leather strap over the flame of the candle and hisses as it skims around the material of the bracelet and singes his skin. He curses aloud into the empty room, pacing as he digs his nails underneath the bracelet and tugs halfheartedly. The elf had cut it off of his wrist, surely if he used something sharp then he could do the same. Dorian grabs one of the candles off of the miniature table and paces the room, exploring each crack and crevice for something sharp like a nail or a splinter of wood. He reaches the window and finds a rusty metal nail which has been wedged between two stones in the wall to up one side of the blanket. He digs his nails in and sets on pulling it out. Not only can he use the nail to rid himself of the blasted bracelet, but if his suspicions were correct there was a window behind the blanket, and a little bit of sunlight would be glorious.

His nails scrape against the stones of the wall and he works the pads of his fingertips raw as he turns, wiggles and pulls the nail only to be rewarded with nothing, the nail doesn’t even budge. He doesn’t give up, cursing frustratedly until eventually the nail begins to move. It only moves a little at first, budging the tiniest amount as he wiggles it but soon enough he can feel it budging until suddenly it pulls free, sending Dorian flying backwards with the nail clasped victoriously in his hands.

The room is washed with bright white light as the blanket falls ceremoniously onto the floor, and Dorian almost cries with happiness at the confirmation that there is, in fact, a window and he runs over to it, letting the dim light of the cloud covered sky wash over his skin.

“We leave you alone for an hour.” A voice interrupts and Dorian jumps, holding his hands out in front of him as he makes the instinctive response to pull on the fade. Standing, or rather leaning in the doorway is the redheaded woman from the ball, her eyes washing over him darkly as she moves slowly into the room.

“It’s okay, I had a feeling it wouldn’t stay covered for long.” The woman says reassuringly as a group of guards enter the room, placing down two chairs and a tray with an assortment of bread and cheeses. Dorians stomach growled in response and he feels his cheeks heat with flame as the red haired woman giggles behind her hand. All this drama had made him forget how long it had been since he had last eaten. On the journey back he had had a couple of left over crusts of bread and before the ball he had hardly eaten as he had been overwhelmed with nerves the night before.

The woman waits for the group of soldiers to exit before sitting in one of the chairs and motioning for Dorian to sit in the other. Dorian sits down cautiously, aware that at any second a group of assassins could spring from the shadows and tie him down to the chair and the torturing would begin. Instead, the woman passes him a plate and nudges the plate of bread and cheese towards him. Dorian takes a piece of bread and bites into it, not even bothering with the cheese. The bread is relatively bland in comparison to the herb and spice infused bread that are common in Tevinter, but because he was so hungry the bread tasted like heaven and the woman watches as he takes two more pieces and quickly devours those too.

“Now, Dorian. That is your name isn’t it?” The woman asks as she takes a cube of cheese between her fingers and takes a bite. Dorian nods. “Dorian of house Pavus?”

“That is me.” Dorian replies, putting his plate back on the table before leaning back in his chair.

“What I wanted to know Dorian, is why our inquisitor had been researching you and your family before the Winter’s Palace ball?” The woman says, folding her hands over her knees as her eyes flick over his face. “Have you met our dear inquisitor before? Because our inquisitor denies any previous meeting and tried to convince me that I imagined the book being open on your family tree the week before the ball.”

Dorian stays silent. If the inquisitor is denying having seen him in the mountains, then he should probably not reveal the truth. Plus it would probably not be particularly beneficial if brought to light at his trial.

“Also, on the balcony at the Winter Palace. You hadn’t been fighting had you?” She continues after Dorian fails to provide a response.

Dorian sighs loudly, “Surely the word of the inquisitor, the leader of your inquisition, is more trustworthy than the word of a prisoner?”

“I would trust the inquisitor with my life.” The woman says. “But that does not mean I trust him to tell the truth. The man holds the weight of the world on his shoulders, and that means he feels like he needs to hide things from everyone, to protect us.”

Dorian watches the woman as she says this and sees a flash of concern cross her face, the man was clearly very well loved. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to help the man cover up his lies, but he almost feels like he owes him.

“I’m afraid that my story is the same as the inquisitors. He found me attempting to drink myself into a stupor on the balcony, we fought, he won, you found us, and now I’m here.” He says, finishing the statement with a look of disgust as he gestures dramatically at their surroundings.

“Very well monsieur Pavus.” The red haired woman says holding a hand out to shake Dorians hand which he accepts politely. She shakes his hand solidly before standing from her chair and moving over to the door and knocking loudly.

 “I will see you at tomorrow's trial.”  She says as the door opens and she turns to leave but pauses, “Thank you for your honesty, it is much appreciated.” The woman says before the door shuts behind her and Dorian is left alone once again.

He remains sat in his chair and reaches into the sleeve for the nail, his body aching for access to his magic. But the nail was gone. Of course it was. The red haired woman wasn’t one to be messed with.


	15. The Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is super unedited again. But I do occasionally go back and edit previous chapters. So far I am up to date in editing Chapters 1-12 so I am getting there slowly. Hope you enjoy and please feel free to leave kudos or a comment (constructive criticism is also welcomed), it really does brighten my day. xx

Theodore paces the war room restlessly. Leliana is late. She is often late to their meetings, but this time is different. This time there is a prisoner in the castle. A prisoner who Theodore is terrified will spill the truth about what really happened on the balcony. It may have only been one dance, but it was one dance with a member of the Venatori. As the inquisitor he was expected to kill Venatori soldiers on sight, not heal them, drink Orlesian wine with them and then dance with them. It was scandalous, and probably enough to have him denounced as inquisitor. Well, maybe not. But if the news got out, then his advisors would have a tough time trying to maintain the good reputation that they have been carefully building over the last few months. When he had first woken up in Haven, he had heard Leliana and Cassandra discussing having to use the rite of tranquility if he was difficult to handle, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they threatened to use it again. They certainly wouldn't hesitate if it saved the reputation of the inquisition. It also helps that the magic of his mark isn't tied to his normal magic meaning that even if he was tranquil they could still make him close rifts. That is all he's really here for isn't it?

Theodore continues to pace the cold stone floor of the war room, occasionally pausing to fiddle with pieces on the war board, as Josephine attempts to explain the current state of Orlesian politics to a clueless Cullen.

“Sorry I am late,” Leliana says, bursting into the room with a piece of paper in her hand. “Inquisitor.” She says with a nod in his direction before handing it to him. “This is the proposed sentence for our latest Venatori prisoner.”

Theodore looks down at the paper, his eyes quickly skimming across all of the contractual formalities until he finds what he needs, scrawled in looping black writing is a series of words that chill him to the bone, 'we suggest invoking the rite of tranquility-' He doesn't read anymore and slams the paper onto the war table, several pieces scattering across the board.

“Tranquil!” He yells, hardly holding back his rage as he looks at Leliana in horror. “You want to use the rite on him?”

The room goes silent as Josephine and Cullen stop their conversation to watch the exchange between Theodore and Leliana.

“It is not my personal choice, but many have heard of Monsieur Pavus and report that he was Corypheus’ right hand. Whether this is true or not, I will have my men look into it, but it is clear that they don’t want him in Skyhold.” She says quietly, her eyes are not betraying a single sentiment.

“And you are letting these people sway you? Leliana, you can have half of the population of Thedas assassinated with the click of your fingers if you wished.” Theodore says, his voice rising with every word. “You would let the words of a few sway you to such a dire sentence.”

“You must remember it is not my sentence to give, inquisitor. I can only advise.” Leliana replies, her hand subconsciously twitching towards the blade at her hip.

“And you advise me to invoke the rite?” Theodore demands, stepping towards the assassin threateningly. “If I were to make one mistake would you invoke the rite on me?”

“I assure you milord we would not –“

“I personally do not agree with the rite, so no.” Leliana says, calmly interrupting Josephine's attempt at diffusing the situation.

“Then why suggest it?” Theodore snaps, the blank eyes of so many haunting the back of his mind as he continues to stare at the piece of paper which is bunched up in his fist. 

“People who know of him are already calling for his head. What do you think will happen when the entirety of Fereldan hears about our new prisoner? Can we really risk the reputation we have built for one man?” Leliana questions, “You have already made it clear that you don't want the man to be executed, but what if you have to choose between tranquillity and execution?”

There is a pause, and Cullen shifts uncomfortably beside Josephine as they all wait for Theodore to answer.

“It won’t come to that.” Theodore replies with confidence. Putting the piece of paper down on the war table before walking round to the other side and leaning heavily against the polished wood. He would make sure it never came to that. He isn’t one of those people who sees a tranquil as less human, they deserve to be treated the same as anyone else, but there is definitely something crucial missing. To feel is to live. Yes, there are days where everything becomes too much and Theodore wishes he could remove his emotions, but he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t even want to try to imagine a world where you cannot feel; it would be absolute hell. He'd rather feel every moment of pain, humiliation, sadness and despair than feel nothing at all. It would be like a blind man looking at a painting, or a deaf man listening to a beautiful ballad. Imagine a life without laughter, excitement, and love, it would be a world devoid of beauty. It wouldn't be a life worth living. He doesn't want to subject someone else to that kind of life, and he hadn’t pegged Leliana as the kind of person to suggest it either.

“Of course.” Leliana says quietly.

“If I may ask my lord.” Josephine says tentatively, placing a gentle hand on his elbow as she addresses him. “What sentence are you thinking of giving to master Pavus?”

Theodore releases a long and quiet sigh, to tell or not to tell, that is the question.

“Okay, you are my advisors,” he says switching to a tone which he normally reserves for visiting noble ambassadors, it makes dealing with things easier somehow. “I have already told you about my meeting with Master Pavus at the Winter Palace. Once when I slipped some of Sera’s strange cocktail in his drink -”

“Not your best idea.” Cullen grumbles

“I don’t know,” Josephine says lightly “It was very Orlesian, I was almost proud.”

“I forgot who I was talking to.” Cullen sighs, but his mouth is lifted into a small smile as he casts a fond sideways glance towards Josephine. Leliana rolls her eyes, barely managing to suppress a gleeful smile, before motioning for Theodore to continue.

“The second was in the courtyard and the third was on the balcony where I fought him and you found me.” Theodore stops, and fiddles with a piece on the war table and Josephine promptly slaps his hands away before readjusting the piece back into its proper place.

“I have a feeling you are about to tell us that you had already met him before.” Cullen says quietly.

Theodore grimaces and Cullen takes in a slow breath, “Makers breath Theodore.” He says in a voice that reminds him of one of the senior enchanters from the circle in Ostwick. The man had a very gentle tone, yet whenever he scolded you, it felt like you had kicked a puppy and you immediately felt overwhelmed with guilt and would carry out whatever punishment he saw fit. Which, for Theodore, was dusting off the old tomes in the lower library of the tower. A horrible punishment which would have him sneezing for days afterwards. At least he hadn’t been assigned to clean out the lavatories like his friend Frederick Merkle. The man managed to fall into one of the buckets which he had already used to clean out five toilets with. The poor man had had to wash his robes twelve times just to get the smell out, and even then it still lingered.

“When did you see him?” Cullen asks.

“You know that time on the mountains when we were ambushed by a group of Venatori?” Theodore says meekly.

“You don’t mean the time I found you in a blinding panic surrounded by over a dozen dead bodies. Please don’t tell me that this is the same Venatori mage Theodore.” Cullen says firmly and Theodore risks a glance up to be met with the stern face. He feels his throat tighten in response. Yes, Cullen is not a man to be messed with and, despite the fact that Theodore is now nearing 30 years old, the man has an uncanny ability to make him feel like a 5-year-old apprentice who has just sent a wobbly fireball in the direction of a senior templar.

“Yes.” Theodore says and he swallows thickly as Cullen takes a step towards him.

“And you didn’t think to tell us about him while at the Winter’s Palace?”

“I’m sorry Commander, I am a little lost.” Josephine says, watching the two men with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

“Basically,” Cullen says, barely managing to keep the anger from his voice, “Theodore was attacked by a group of Venatori mages on the mountains. We assumed they were all dead. Theodore didn’t think to tell us about this certain mage not being among the dead. He also didn’t think to tell us about the presence of this same mage while we were at the ball. He could have easily been the hired assassin!”

“But he wasn’t” Theodore points out in defence.

“Commander, this doesn’t change anything.” Leliana points out calmly. “What is done is done. Right now we need to decide what the sentence for our Tevinter prisoner should be.”

“One more thing.” Theodore says sheepishly. “I suspected that he might be at the ball.”

“What?” All of three of his advisors shout in unison, all of them staring at Theodore in utter disbelief.

“I was talking to the seamstress, you know the one we hired to create our outfits for the ball? And she described a man who sounded eerily like the man I met in the mountains. She had said he had sounded foreign and he was extremely charming. He had also been very interested in the fact that I was attending Celene’s ball. So I thought it was possible that he may make an appearance in an attempt to complete his mission.”

“And what was his mission?” Josephine asks, but the grimace on her face gives away that she already knows the answer.

“To kill me.”

He is met with silence as Cullen leans heavily against the table, Josephine puts her hand over her face and Leliana just stares at him silently as she shakes her head. Yes, he probably should have told them, but he thought it would just distract them away from their main mission, and he had faith that if he came face to face with the man again, then he would drive a blade through the man’s chest quicker than he could say 'long live Tevinter'. Of course that hadn’t happened and for once Theodore has no regrets. If he had killed him then he probably would have died in the courtyard battle.

“So, I’m just going to repeat this out loud, it helps me to process absurd things.” Josephine says. “You met the man who murdered four of our soldiers and cast a terror curse upon you, and didn’t kill him, and still don’t want to kill him?” Josephine says, and Theodore is impressed how she manages to keep her tone level and impartial.

“There’s one more thing.” Theodore says, ignoring the quiet muttering of ‘maker save us’ coming from Cullen’s direction. “In the battle in the courtyard, we almost lost. I very nearly died. Dorian saved me.” He is met by the shocked stares of his advisors, this is beginning to turn into some sort of theatre production with the way the mood keeps shifting, Theodore thinks to himself. “I don’t know why he did, but he certainly can’t go back to the Venatori now, and he told me he doesn’t want to go back.”

“And you believe him?” Leliana asks, her voice warning him that he is being too trusting.

“Yes. And so I have no idea what his sentence should be.”

There is a sharp knock on the door and Cullen jumps up from leaning against the table and opens the door to reveal a scout who, upon seeing Cullen, jumps into a formal salute.

“Commander, there is a crowd gathered in the main hall awaiting the judgement. We were wondering when to expect the inquisitor?”

Cullen glances down at his battered wrist watch before cursing quietly. “We will be right there. Just give us a few moments.”

The scout nods before shutting the door.

Theodore looks around at his advisors in panic, was it already time? He glances out at the sky to see the sun already beginning to dip below the walls of the fortress, strands of gold and orange already beginning to streak through the late day sky. Ironic that a rare beautiful evening chooses to appear on a day when Theodore feels like he is trapped inside the eye of a never ending storm. Storm clouds would have felt much more fitting.

“Quickly give me your opinions.” Theodore says, surprising himself at how calm and commanding he manages to keep his voice.

“I think that we should lock him in one of our jail cells, or maybe send him to Val Royeaux jail if we cannot spare the space as many of our own cells are still being reconstructed.” Cullen says, opening the door to the war room as he waits for Leliana, Josephine, and Theodore.

“I agree with our commander, except I don’t think sending him to the Val Royeaux jails would be wise, it may damage our reputation in Orlais.” Josephine says with a polite nod in Cullen’s direction to which Cullen replies with a quiet but accepting “fair enough.”

“Leliana?” Theodore says, turning to face his spymaster who looks deep in thought. So far he is not liking his options, but he’s glad neither of them suggested death or tranquillity, especially on Cullen’s part.

“If you want my personal opinion inquisitor, then I suggest we use his knowledge of the Venatori and Corypheus and make him our ally.”

“What?” Theodore says loudly, his disbelief quickly echoed by Josephine and Cullen.

“He will still technically be our prisoner, but I have already worked out that the bracelet he is wearing suppresses his magic so he is not a threat on that front."

 

“He doesn’t have magic?” Theodore says, his chest constricting in sympathy and Leliana nods, “the poor man.”

“It is for the best.” Leliana replies gently. “We can use his lack of magic as leverage. He can tell us everything he knows of Corypheus' plans and in return we will reward him with a few things of his choosing, one of them being the return of his magic.”

“Leliana, stripping a mage of their magic for long periods of time, it is a form of torture.” Theodore says, unable to even fathom the feeling of having his magic cut from him. Even having low mana was painful enough, to have it out of his reach completely, it would be like an integral part of him was missing, almost like losing a limb.

“Inquisitor, with all due respect, for all we know he is still loyal to the Venatori, and, therefore, is a danger to us.” Cullen says firmly.

“He is not loyal to the Venatori. Not anymore.” Theodore says turning on Cullen who takes a subtle step back.

“That may be the case. But we cannot take the risk of him having his magic. If we are to have him as our ally then we need to have some securities in place.” Leliana says matter of factly and Theodore eyes her in suspicion.

“Why the change of heart? Moments ago you wanted him made tranquil, now you want him to work for us. Why?” Theodore trusts Leliana with his own life, she had shown her loyalty and tenacity in his little trip into the red lyrium riddled future. But did he trust her with Dorian’s life? Probably not.

“You forget inquisitor, that I did not suggest the rite as my own proposal, I only relayed the demands of the few who already knew about our prisoner.” Leliana says with a small smile, “shall we?” she says, motioning with one hand towards the door before walking from the room, leaving behind a shocked Cullen and Josephine.

“Well-“ Cullen says, opening his mouth to say something else but deciding against it, instead opting to take a deep breath before following Leliana.

Josephine gestures for the inquisitor to go ahead of her, holding the door open for him as he goes. As he passes her she places a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Whatever you choose,” she whispers reassuringly, “I will agree with it.”

Theodore feels warmth spread through his chest and he smiles down at the woman, “Thank you Josephine, I needed to hear that.” He says gratefully before heading through the door and towards the main hall which is buzzing with what sounds like far too many voices. 

These events were normally well attended, with many nobles wanting to report back to their little social circles about how poorly the inquisitor had sentenced his prisoner. Or maybe they just attended so that they could comment on how the inquisitor had a stain on his left sleeve or how one of his buttons had fallen off, the scandal! The mind of the everyday noble was something to be studied, it was unpredictable and incredibly shallow, but was also something to be feared. If you get on the wrong side of the mind of a noble, then you are at risk of public humiliation at best and assassination at worst. After this, however, he had a feeling that Leliana and Josephine would have their hands full trying to maintain the backing they had gained and, more importantly, keeping him alive.

As Theodore opens the door he has to mentally remind himself not to gape in shock. The normal 30-50 people had doubled or tripled in number with the volume of people filling the hall. Nobles and common folk alike were cramming themselves against the walls in order to be inside the main hall and not having to watch from outside. To Theodore at least, the main hall had always been too big. But not today. He can feel bile beginning to rise in the back of his throat as his eyes scan over the huge crowd which has gathered. Even Alexius hadn’t gathered a crowd this big, and his actions under the Venatori had been more scandalous and much more publically known than Dorian’s. Maybe it's simply because the inquisition has grown so much since then.

The crowd begins to cheer as they notice the inquisitor. Cullen and Josephine take their place at his sides and Leliana is just behind, probably so he isn’t stabbed in the back, as they make their way through the cheering crowd.

“Just smile and nod politely.” Josephine says through her teeth as she plasters a smile on her face, “and pretend that it is just us. Don’t let the crowd phase you.” She says, taking a deep breath, signalling with the gentle nudge of her elbow for Theodore to do the same.

“Right.” Theodore says mostly to himself as he takes deep breath after deep breath. “Please say you have a plan to get me out quickly if this all goes pear-shaped.” He whispers behind him towards Leliana.

“We always have a plan in place inquisitor. Just focus on the prisoner and yourself, we’ve got everything else covered.”

As they breach the front of the crowd his advisors step away, Josephine taking her place with her clipboard at the front, while Leliana and Cullen step away to stand either side of his chair, both of them doing their best to look intimidating and trustworthy at the same time. Theodore tries to hold himself up high as he takes his few solitary steps towards the sunburst shaped throne which Leliana had somehow convinced him to use many moons ago.

Once he is seated the crowd hush and Josephine fiddles with the paper on her clipboard before beginning her spiel which Theodore has already heard many times before. He blocks it all out, his brain racing through his options as he waits for the guards to bring Dorian in. His head is telling him that he is dangerous and should be locked up, his gut however, is telling him that the man he met on the balcony was not the same man he met on the mountain. His gut is telling him that he got a glimpse of who the man really was. He is a broken man far away from home, who followed Corypheus blindly into this sea of destruction and felt he was too far out to swim back to safety. Leliana had always warned Theodore that he was too trusting, but is that a bad thing? The only time his trusting nature had ever failed him in the past, was with Dorian himself. But if the man can be redeemed, then technically his trust in him was not misplaced.

A loud crash interrupts Theodore’s train of thought and he joins the crowd as he watches in silence as two guards drag a very unwilling Dorian to the spot just in front of Theodore’s chair. A couple of boos echo from the back of the hall as the guards force the man onto his knees. 

“You recall Dorian Pavus of Tevinter, under your instruction we captured him at the Winter’s Palace. The formal charges are apostasy, murder of inquisitorial forces, and, similar to his predecessor Gereon Alexius, attempted assassination on your own life. We sent ravens to Tevinter upon his capture, and his father has denounced him and removed any inheritance that he has. He is now yours to charge as you see fit.” Josephine finishes, giving the inquisitor a reassuring nod before stepping backwards to stand beside the wall.

“Well,” Theodore says, choosing to move his focus onto the man who is kneeling before him rather than take note of the awe on the faces of the waiting crowd, “that is an impressive list of crimes.”

“Quite.” Dorian says smugly, looking up at Theodore with a small smirk, how can the man still be smirking? For all he knows he is about to face the executioners axe. Come to think of it, the man looks hardly any different to how he looked when he first met. His outfit, though not quite as form fitting and fashionable as the striking black and gold attire he had worn at the ball, certainly didn’t make the man look ugly. If anything the casual look worked for him, the baggy shirt revealing just a little bit of his collarbone and muscular shoulders, and how did he not have even a single hair out of place? If Theodore was in his place he would likely look like he was wearing a dead cat on his head. Or at least that is how his mother used to oh-so-lovingly describe his hair if he neglected to comb it. Hell, after just an hours nap he always ended up looking like he had been dragged through several hedges.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine interrupts from the corner.

Theodore feels a blush creep up his neck as he looks up to see the audience looking at him intensely, some with a look of confusion, some with downright disgust and then some even look amused. How long had he been just sat there staring? Probably too long to be excused as a just a moment to think.

“Sorry Josephine.” Theodore says, his cheeks now burning hotly and he can see Dorian chuckling out of the corner of his eyes. Damn him. “Dorian Pavus,” Theodore says loudly, “that is quite an impressive list of crimes.” He repeats in an attempt to get back on track.

“Well, I am quite an impressive man.” He says.  A few members of the audience boo in response, there is even a hiss from nearer the back of the hall, but Dorian holds his head high and smiles up at the inquisitor, completely unfazed.

“I am aware.” Theodore says, immediately regretting it when he hears a sharp warning cough from Leliana. “Dorian Pavus, will you tell those gathered here today what you told me in Halamshiral in regards to your loyalty to the Venatori.”

“I said that I cannot return to the Venatori.” Dorian says confidently, again ignoring the reaction of the crowd which is a mixture of surprised gasps and boos.

“And why is that?”

“If I am to tell the honest truth, it is because I fear for my life.”

“Oh?” Theodore says.

“I openly betrayed them, and, despite your best efforts to dispatch of them all, some escaped and there is no doubt that word will get back to Corypheus. I cannot be loyal to a group that wants me dead.” Dorian says, flinching a little as spit hits him squarely on his back followed by a loud shout of ‘Liar!’

Theodore leans forward in his chair and watches him carefully, Dorian meeting his stare with confidence. “As you understand, I cannot just let you go free.”

“Quite.” He replies with a small nod.

“Dorian Pavus. Unknown to the majority of those gathered here, you failed to take my life, not just once, but three times. Two of those in the same evening.”

“Yes, thank you for highlighting my failure inquisitor.” Dorian says and Theodore flashes him a warning glare. This man was not making things any easier.

“What I want to know, and please tell the truth, is did you ever intend to kill me?”

This shuts him up. Theodore shifts in his chair, the back of the room is beginning to get a little restless and he can see out of the corner of his eyes that his guards are preparing to move into action as the whispers get louder and louder. Normally these sentences were over and done with within the span of a few minutes, but then again, he normally knew the sentence he was going to give before sitting in the chair. For Dorian's own sake he really hopes the next thing that comes out of the mans mouth isn't a smart arsed comment, he was clearly an intelligent man, that was evident just from the way he spoke, so surely he knew how dire the situation he is in is. It had been him who had saved him in the courtyard, he knew it was. The man could deny it all he wanted, but there had been many ways that he could have killed him, both in the mountains and at the ball. Especially at the ball. He could name about 20 different ways in which Dorian could have killed him with magic alone, all he needs to do is admit this and then Theodore can probably wrangle the sentence which Leliana had suggested.

The man looks back at him calmly, but if Theodore wasn’t mistaken, he could see a hint of panic in the man’s eyes. “My mission was to kill you.” He replies and Theodore has a sigh of frustration. 

“Did you _want_ to kill me?” Theodore asks. There is a long pause, a few coughs of impatience going through the gathered crowd.

“No.” Dorian replies eventually and Theodore feels his heart stutter in his chest as a smile spreads across his face. He knew it! If there was one thing he felt that he could trust in this world, then it was his gut instinct, and his gut had told him right from the start that Dorian is not a bad man. He may not necessarily be a good man, that is clear just from the fact that he joined the Venatori in the first place, but he is not bad, just like Alexius was. He was not bad, just mislead. 

A loud murmur moves through the audience, but Theodore doesn’t risk looking up from where Dorian is kneeling, fearing that he will be met with a lot of angry looking nobles.

Cullen leans in to speak, his hand resting firmly on the hilt of his sword. “Inquisitor, we need to wrap this up pretty soon.”

“I know.” Theodore replies, but he needs more information first. The crowd wants to see this man sentenced to death, and of course, there are also those who called for him to be made tranquil. There is no way that they would accept the sentence he has in mind with the current evidence. “Also, is it true that it was you who helped myself and my companions in the battle in the courtyard of the Winter’s Palace, and in doing so, saved my life?”

“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that-“

“Answer the question Lord Pavus.” Josephine says, quickly cutting off the rest of his answer.

“Fine,” He sighs dramatically, “Yes, I selflessly put myself in the line of fire to rescue your dear inquisitor from certain death.”

There is a shocked gasp from the audience and Theodore stands from his chair in an attempt to silence them before the shouting starts.

“With all the evidence we have been given, it would not be right to give you a sentence as severe as the death sentence, and to those who asked for the rite to be performed, I will tell you that the rite is a punishment that I will never consider, not under any circumstances.” The crowd begin to murmur disapprovingly again and Theodore raises his hands, and luckily they obey and fall silent, but this doesn’t stop the angry stares. “Dorian Pavus, you are clearly an intelligent man and we would be foolish to ignore your inside knowledge when it comes to Corypheus and the Venatori. Your sentence is to serve the inquisition, under guard, as a consultant on Venatori activities.”

Dorian’s eyes go wide in shock, his mouth falling open as he stutters incomprehensibly. This must be the first time he has ever seen the man speechless, Theodore thinks to himself.

The guards quickly drag Dorian to his feet and that is when the crowd starts. They yell curses in the direction of both Dorian and Theodore, and the guards make their move, attempting to hold back the crowd who are beginning to press forwards with fists and decorated fans raised in anger. The guards try to clear a path to lead Dorian back to his room, but the crowd isn't shifting, the nobles choosing to simply stand and curse behind their fans, while others flail and spit, some even daring to strike out at his guards who simply take it as if it was nothing more put a gentle poke.

The guards try to clear a path to lead Dorian back to his room, but the crowd isn't shifting, the nobles choosing to simply stand and curse behind their fans, while others flail and spit, some even daring to strike out at his guards who simply take it as if it was nothing more than a gentle poke.

“Cullen, tell your men to take him to my room, we will move him later once the crowd has settled down and left,” Theodore yells above the noise. The commander looks back at him in concern but nods, agreeing that getting the prisoner out of view from the masses would probably ease the situation a little.

He watches as the men roughly shove Dorian through the door that leads to his room and slumps back into his chair with a sigh as the crowd continues to yell. They can yell all they want, but he’s not going to change his mind. There was something about Dorian that intrigued him, and he knew he was the kind of man you wanted to work with rather than against. His entire body feels drained and for once he doesn't care that he has probably just gained the hatred of hundreds,

His entire body feels drained and for once he doesn't care that he has probably just gained the hatred of hundreds, he simply watches passively as Cullen and his guards manage to calm the masses of people, and slowly but surely, like a large flock of sheep, wrangle them out of the main door and into the courtyard below.

"You did the right thing, Inquisitor," Leliana says, coming up silently by his side and laying a gloved hand on the armrest of his throne, "The masses may not like it, but I agree with your judgement. The man is trustworthy, and though it may not seem like it, and the man certainly won't admit it if you were to ask him outright, but he is already loyal to you."

Theodore snorts in amusement as the last few members of the crowd are led reluctantly from the room, "He is never going to be loyal Leliana, if there's anything I know about those from Tevinter, it is that they are loyal to no one but themselves."

"That may be true," Leliana says, lowering her voice slightly as Cullen and Josephine begin to approach them, "but he had no reason to lie about what really happened on the balcony did he?" Theodore snaps his eyes up to Leliana who looks at him knowingly. He knew that nothing would ever slip past Leliana, but on the plus side, she didn't really seem to care.


	16. Welcome to the Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not updating in ages. Life happened, but I'm sure you all know the drill.
> 
> Just a warning, this chapter is super unedited but I'm planning on editing it in the morning, I just wanted to get it up before I go to sleep because I am super impatient and i can't guarantee I will get around to editing it tomorrow because I have to clean my entire house before I leave uni for the summer.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and thanks for sticking with me xx

Recruited him! The lunatic of a man had chosen to recruit him! He used to think that it was strength, intelligence, and honour that had led to the man choosing to spare his life in their previous encounters. Now? Now Dorian is pretty confident that the man is certifiably insane. It would certainly explain why he had healed him on the balcony rather than raising the alarm, had chosen to drug him and hide him in the library of the Winter Palace rather than killing him or, again, raising the alarm. Maybe the man liked the instability of constant danger, maybe he was an adrenaline junkie who felt uncomfortable in a life where he wasn’t constantly under threat, maybe it was even a fetish, but one thing was clear, not one of the reasons Dorian could come up with could possibly be used by a man with a sound mind.

His advisors were obviously equally as insane because what bigger threat was there than having a Venatori mage living under the same roof as their Herald? Not to mention that Dorian now knew the whereabouts of his quarters, the door to the left of the throne wasn’t exactly difficult to remember and was also surprisingly easy to enter; no locks, no secret passwords, no booby-trapped puzzles, just two doors and a set of stairs.  Had they forgotten that Corypheus had ordered him to kill the Herald, or were they simply choosing to ignore it so they wouldn’t be seen as publicly opposing their holy symbol? Yes, they were all insane, and this is the same organisation which is being held up on a pedestal as the good force against the Venatori. 

“Move along!” One guard says, shoving him up the final few steps and Dorian manages to catch himself before he topples head over feet into the inquisitor’s quarters. The first thing he notices is how bright and airy the room is, his eyes squinting against the sting of the sudden change. He blinks multiple times in quick succession, his eyes quickly adjusting as he begins to take in his surroundings.

For a castle in the middle of the mountains of the south, Dorian has to give it to them, the man's quarters are quite impressive. Of course they have nothing on his bedroom back home, or even the servants quarters if he was going to be brutally honest, but in comparison to the other hovels he has inhabited in this mud, rain and cold infested southern pit of a place, it was decadent. Not that he gets to see much of the room, within seconds of his feet landing clumsily upon the wooden floorboards of the entranceway, a large and rather filthy hand is clamped hard across his eyes, causing stars to dance across the backs of his eyelids. Marvellous.

“We don’t want you getting any ideas now do we?” The guard says gloatingly and Dorian wrinkles his nose at the overwhelming smell of his hands which smell like they have been marinating in sweat and excrement for several years. Are southerners completely allergic to a sense of hygiene?

“Now what ideas could you possibly be referring to?” Dorian says with a smirk and the guard chuckles in response.

“You are here as our prisoner-”

“-Consultant actually.” Dorian interrupts.

“Fancy titles don’t change anything, you are still our prisoner.” The other guard says from somewhere nearby.

“Anyway,” the guard behind him continues with an irritated growl, “ we don’t want you getting any ideas when in a room as nice as this one.”

“I assure you, I’m not planning on bedding you,” Dorian says in disgust, trying and failing to shift away from the hand, the smell beginning to make his eyes water.

“Good.” The guard replies sharply, shifting uncomfortably as his companion lets out a stifled chuckle.

“Of course,” Dorian continues lowering his voice suggestively, wondering just how far he can push things before he is rewarded with a fist to the nose, “your Herald holds much more appeal. But of course I would never dare to taint such a holy symbol.” He is cut off with a warning growl followed by a sharp kick to his shin. He knew that he was playing a risky game by teasing members of the inquisitions guard, but he did love to tease and what else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t exactly admire his surroundings or read a book while a hand is clamped across his eyes. He also couldn’t help it if Fereldan’s were easy targets as they have the delightful tendency to become flushed and flustered at the slightest mention of sex.He chuckles as the guard begins to stutter awkwardly; he can practically feel the man’s blush. “Although, I am a great believer in the phrase ‘never say never’.” Dorian continues and he hears a nearby splutter as the other guard likely chokes on his drink.

“Shut it!” The guard warns and Dorian simply chuckles in response. This was way too easy.

 

A door slams at the bottom of the stairs and he feels the guard at his back tense, his hand pushing even harder against his face.

“He’s not causing you any trouble is he?” A deep voice Dorian does not recognise rumbles across the space, followed by a heavy set of footsteps as the owner of the voice makes their way up the stairs. “Because his status as an ally does not mean we cannot punish him if he steps out of line.” Dorian barely suppresses a shiver as the man’s voice drops threateningly, his gravelly tone emphasising the word punish, revelling in every syllable.

“His sense of humour could use a little correcting. He seems to believe that jokes about tainting the herald are acceptable.” The guard behind him replies, the lack of formal address surprising Dorian slightly, he had assumed from their tense and sudden reaction to the newcomer, that this man was their superior but maybe he was wrong, or maybe the guards down south were poorly trained in how to address those in higher stations than themselves. Back home if a guard or servant were to use an incorrect title, or even worse, not title at all, then they would be thrown into the stocks before they could say ‘sorry my lord’.

There is another drawn out silence as the footsteps get closer and closer until they finally stop just in front of Dorian who takes in a deep breath, “Tainting our inquisitor,” the newcomer whispers, and Dorian recoils slightly as he feels the man’s breath hot against his ear, “How amusing. I don’t think a delicate flower like you could handle someone as important as the herald of Andraste.” He says and Dorian shivers in disgust as the man runs a finger slowly across his cheek.

“Oh, I assure you that I know how to handle a powerful man,” Dorian says trying to keep his tone confident as he feels the man shift, his fingers running along his jaw as he moves to stand in front of him.

“Interesting.” He replies, the brief silence that follows is punctuated by a wet pop before a wet finger is flicked under his chin, leaving a disgusting trail as it runs down his neck towards his collar bone.

“It’s a shame that the inquisitor has hired a bunch of prepubescent boys to guard him.” Dorian says with a dramatic sigh, ignoring his racing pulse as his brain screams at him to run. Even without seeing the man alarm bells were sounding loudly and clearly in his head. He wasn’t one to say no to a tumble or two with a stranger, but that didn’t mean he was foolish enough to let these men have him, and that was clearly this man’s intention.

“Move your hand.” The man orders sharply and the guard behind Dorian obeys, the light of the room once again stinging his eyes. Dorian blinks again, before flinching back instinctively at the face which is inches away from his. The man is tall, his face looming down on him, his near black eyes gleaming with malicious intent and his face is morphed into something from a nightmare, his yellowed teeth showing through the mans thin-lipped grin. His skin is pale apart from a single angry red scar which runs from his left ear to the middle of his chin. “You think I am a boy?” He says, spit flying from his mouth on the last word.

“I apologise, what I meant to say is that it’s a shame the inquisitor hired a bunch of intellectually stinted people to be his guards.” Dorian tries not to recoil but his body betrays him, flinching instinctively as the man’s palm moves quickly through the air before hitting him solidly against his cheek. Blood rushes to his face, every nerve stinging with the force of the slap but he remains standing and flicks his eyes to look back at the man, quickly schooling his features into the best look of distaste that he can muster. He has been in the court of Corypheus for the last few months, does this man really think he can intimidate him? “You have just proven my point. Only a man who cannot think of an intelligent reply would resort to violence so quickly.” The man lifts his hand again and Dorian stares him down, after being stabbed in the hand by a dagger of red lyrium, having his mana sucked dry forcefully to help fuel the power of a so-called god, and being beaten into the ground by his meant-to-be allies, he thinks he can take a couple of slaps from a bully of a guard.

Before the man can strike, his wrist is grabbed firmly by the guard who was behind Dorian.

“Don’t,” he warns sharply, the shake in his voice undermining his attempt to sound commanding, “the inquisitor is coming in a minute, do you really want him to find his new ally beaten and bruised. We’d be sacked on the spot.”

The man grits his teeth, his jaw twitching as he tugs himself free of the other guard’s grip and turns angrily, slamming his fist against a nearby dresser causing several unlit candles to scatter.

“He is a Venatori!” The man yells, his menacingly calm façade dropping as his face flushes red, “he should be being chopped into many different pieces or hung by the neck until the flies and maggots have their way!” The room falls silent, tension falling over all of the men like a choking fog. “And he’s a mage!” He continues, growling as his fingers bite into the wood of the cabinet, his knuckles white as his arms begin to shake with barely constrained rage.

“I’m also an Altus from Tevinter, just in case you want to add that to the list of abominable traits which I possess,” Dorian adds calmly, ignoring every instinct which is screaming at him to stay quiet. The man spins around breathing heavily, his eyes dark with pure hatred in his eyes and his jaw twitching as he clenches and unclenches his teeth.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” the man says, his voice impossibly low as he strolls slowly back over to Dorian, his fists firmly clenched by his sides, “you may have tricked the inquisitor with your weird Tevinter voodoo, but I am not so easily fooled.” He takes another step forward, directly invading Dorian’s personal space before he grabs him solidly by the neck, his fingers squeezing just tightly enough to make Dorian gasp in surprise before moving forward, pushing Dorian back until he is pushed up against the railing, the stone banister digging into his back. One small shove would be all it takes to send him head first down the set of stone steps, and that would certainly hurt more than a simple slap. The stone digs painfully into the small of his back as he is pushed further and further over the banister of the stairwell, the man tightens his grip on his throat and Dorian can’t hold back a small choke which elicits a small smile from the man who presses even harder. Dorian can feel his heart hammering in his chest, this man really wants to kill him. He knew that most of the population of Thedas would enjoy seeing him skewered on the flagpoles which mark the entrance of Skyhold, but right here, right now, this man wanted him dead and, by the look in his eyes, he wanted to be the one to watch the light leave his eyes. Dorian hates himself as he tugs pathetically at his restraints which bind his wrists, squirming in the man’s grip as the blood begins to roar in his head. He looks at the two other guards with wide eyes, a last desperate plea but neither are looking at him, one standing looking at the ground where his feet shift nervously against the stone floor, as the other stares out of the window, the nervous twitch of his jaw the only suggestion that he knows what his colleague is doing.

“My job is to protect the inquisitor.” The man says, his face the only thing that Dorian can concentrate on as his limbs grow heavy and the sides of his vision begin to succumb swim in darkness. “So that is exactly what I am going to do.” He continues, his hands still clenched mercilessly against his windpipe as he pulls Dorian up so that their noses are touching.

 “I was gonna play with you first, a pretty thing like you shouldn’t go to waste and me and the boys need a bit of fun after the day we’ve had, but you talk too much.” He says placing a rough kiss against Dorians lips, “and do you want to know what happens to people who like to talk too m-“ His last word is cut off, his eyes going wide as his grip suddenly slackens, one of the hands shooting up to his forehead where an arrow not protrudes. Dorian falls back against the railing ignoring the raw pain in his throat as he takes in large gulps of air. The guard falls to the ground, a large pool of blood beginning to bloom from his head as he stares glassily at the ceiling. Dorian looks up, his vision still swimming slightly to see the redheaded woman from earlier, the one who had stolen his nail, standing proudly with a bow in her hands. Never had he been more relieved to see anyone in his life, and that isn’t a thought he thought he would ever apply to this woman, Leliana he thinks her name is, or maybe it’s Josephine, he can’t remember; a lack of oxygen can do that to a person after all.

“Are you alright, Dorian?” She asks, holding him by the elbow in an attempt to help him steady himself.

“I’m quite dandy.” Dorian replies, his sarcasm lost as his voice comes out in a quiet rasp.

“I feared our recruits might have a bad reaction, but to make an attempt on your life so soon after the judgement is made. I must apologise on behalf of the inquisition.” She says, casting a stern look in the direction of the two remaining guards who are standing stiffly in a formal salute, their eyes wide with fear.

“It’s no worry,”

“It won’t happen again.” She says firmly and Dorian believes that she believes that, but there had already been a close call, and he had only been a free man for less than an hour.

“As much as I appreciate you saying this, I wouldn’t make promises about something you cannot control.” Dorian replies. This was not the first attempt on his life, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“I must say I am impressed; how did you get in without him noticing?” Dorian says with a smirk, quickly moving the topic along to something which didn’t make him aware of the huge target which was painted across both his back and his front. Of course he already knew the answer, being an Altus in Tevinter meant that he had met enough rogues and assassins in his time to know that they could be scarily silent and invisible when they wanted to be. “Let me guess, you cartwheeled your way across the roof and then did a triple backflip onto the balcony before shooting him through the head while doing a handstand and all without disturbing a single grain of dust.”

The woman laughs, her whole face briefly transforming into that of a giggling little girl, it is nice to know that the woman isn’t all daggers, arrows, assassins and spies.

“Unfortunately, a bow and arrow requires two hands so you cannot fire one while doing a handstand.” She replies, her lilting voice taking on a musical quality as she smiles at Dorian.

“Ah, so you’re not denying the triple backflip or the cartwheels across the roof?” Leliana giggles again and one of the guards joins in, but she turns her head sharply to level him with what can only be described as a death glare. The guard stiffens, his face his face draining of colour as he quickly diverts his eyes. Dorian chuckles, not many women, hell not many people even, could reduce a man to a pale shivering wreck with just one look. If Dorian were a different kind of man then would be head over heels in love with the woman already, if she hadn’t stolen his only way to get rid of his blasted bracelet that is.

The sound of loud racing footsteps suddenly caught their attention and both Dorian and Leliana turned to see a pale-faced Theodore rushing up the stairs, his staff firmly in one hand and electricity crackling in his other.

“Leliana! I heard there was –“ He starts, his eyes darting around the room panicked, but, as they settle on Dorian, his whole demeanour seems to relax and the crackle of electricity a his fingertips vanishes into thin air. “You’re okay,” He says with a relieved sigh and a smile that could melt the heart of a despair demon. His smile falters slightly as he notices the body on the floor, “what in the maker’s name happened up here?” He says, his eyes flicking between Dorian and the body and the floor. “Did he try to hurt you?” He asks, his eyes pained as looks at the two of them for answers.

“That’s what you assume?” Dorian says unbelievingly as he shakes his head. Only this man, this crazy crazy man, could look at a dead body at the feet of a Venatori mage and assume that the mage was the victim.

“Yes.” The red-haired woman, who is now confirmed as Leliana, cuts in just as Dorian opens his mouth to continue, “one of our guards tried to kill Master Pavus,” she continues, taking a step over the dead body as if it were something disgusting which she didn’t want to ruin her shoes, “the perpetrator has been dealt with, his accomplices however,” she says, eyeing the two guards who are still stood by the windows in a formal salute, “have not.”

Theodore turns to face the two guards, anger flashing briefly across his face.

“Leave.” He orders and the two guards jump to attention and, after bidding him a formal ‘yes ser’, they scurry from the room in what Dorian can only describe as the quickest retreat of two grown men in full armour he has ever witnessed.

“You are not going to do anything about them?” Leliana questions but Theodore doesn’t reply, instead moving to stand in front of Dorian, his eyes moving up and down his body clinically before he turns back round to face the red-haired woman.

“Not before I sort this out. Leliana can you grab my dagger from the drawer of my desk.” He says after a while, motioning with one hand to the grand wooden desk which has been pushed into one corner. Leliana walks over to the desk and, after a fair bit of rummaging, removes an ornate silver dagger from one of the top draws and hands it to him cautiously with one eyebrow raised.

“Is this really a good idea?”  She says and Theodore nods.

Dorian watches him carefully, hating that his heart is, once again, beginning to hammer in his chest as Theodore draws the dagger from its sheath, the grating noise of metal sliding against metal chilling Dorian to the bone. Theodore wouldn’t kill him, not after that whole display in the trial. It would show weakness. He wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t! But, then again, one of his guards would soon have to be reported dead, and, with the whole of Skyhold already calling for his blood, he wouldn’t be surprised if Theodore would get the whole matter over and done with before the risk of a rebellion.

Theodore moves around him, holding him firmly by the shoulder with one hand so as to keep him in place. Dorian inhales sharply, his eyes flicking over to where Leliana stands, her face an unreadable mask. Surely she let him kill him, otherwise why would she have saved his life merely moments ago? There is a gentle tug against his restraints and suddenly his hands fall apart and Dorian looks down at his hands in shock before releasing a small nervous laugh.

“Really Dorian,” Theodore says with a sigh as he moves back round to his front, “do you think so little of me as to believe that I would kill you? After all the trouble I went through to ensure that I didn’t have to execute you.” He says with a gentle smile which sends a small jolt of something through Dorians chest in response.

“I did think it would be rather a foolish act. But, then again, you just announced to the entirety of Thedas that you were going to let me live when they had been calling for my head on a spike, so, foolish acts are clearly not beyond you.” Dorian says, rubbing his neck with his newly freed hands. Theodore grimaces and grabs him by the wrists, pulling his hands away before gently stroking a finger along the skin of his neck. If it weren’t so painful, Dorian probably would have found the action quite sensual, but instead he has to grit his teeth as Theodore pushes just a little too hard against his abused windpipe.

“Sorry,” Theodore murmurs, his fingers suddenly warming as healing magic begins to flow into Dorian’s damaged tissues. Dorian lets out a small groan as the aching throb of his throat began to seep away and took a deep breath, relieved that it no longer burned.

“You really need to learn healing magic.” Theodore says before removing his hand from Dorian’s throat.

“Oh trust me, it will be the first thing I do when I get my magic back.” He says, shaking his hand so that the sleeve shrugs free from his wrists and the leather and metal bracelet comes into view. “If only someone would remove it for me.” He says with a dramatic sigh to which he gets no response, simply earning a glare from Leliana and a quick up and down glance from the bracelet and back from blank-faced Theodore.

“Well, shall I show you to your new room?” Theodore says, quickly shifting his demeanour.. Dorian nods in response, his chest feeling a little heavier as he realises that he may be living with this abomination of a bracelet for the foreseeable future. “We will be using the room we had you placed in before the trial, but I have had a few of my guards make arrangements for nicer bedding, a desk and a fresh supply of writing instruments.” Theodore says as he moves towards the top of the stairs.

“I was rather hoping it would be this one.” Dorian says, smirking as he watches the inquisitor’s cheeks quickly redden before laughing nervously.

“Well, no, that’s not really - follow me please.” He says as he begins to head, a little too quickly, down the stairs. Who knew such a strong and stoic figure could be disarmed by a suggestive comment. How deliciously Southern, Dorian thinks as he chuckles lightly to himself.

He moves to follow, his foot ghosting the surface of the top step before he is stopped suddenly by a firm hand against his chest. He spins around to meet a very hard faced Leliana. Theodore smiles at her but her face remains blank, all her light humour and caring nature has vanished from sight. She moves closer to him, her eyes staring him down.

“Don’t push your luck with him.” She whispers, her gentle voice not quite matching the threatening tone. She draws back from him and flicks her eyes over his shoulder towards the body of the dead guard. Dorian follows her gaze and swallows thickly before nodding. He has got her message loud and clear. Don’t mess with the Herald, or she will paint the floor with your blood.

“I have no intention to hurt him.” Dorian says in response.

“Intentional or not, hurt him, and I will hurt you.” Leliana says before moving past him down the stairs, leaving Dorian alone in the inquisitor’s quarters, his eyes catching on the scarlet feathers of the arrow which still protrudes from the back of the dead guards skull.


	17. Cold Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few weeks in his tower at Skyhold and far too much time to think, Dorian is desperate for someone other than himself to talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have really struggled with writing this chapter. I always do with filler chapters for some reason, and this is definitely a filler chapter.  
> Sorry again for the long wait between updates and thank you for sticking with me, I really do appreciate it xx

The weeks had been slow since the change in Dorian’s status from prisoner to ally and, apart from frequent visits from Leliana, all had been eerily quiet in the small corner of Skyhold in which Dorian resided. In the first few days he found that many people would climb the stairs to the library, he felt like some sort of rare animal exhibit the way that they would stand for a few minutes and stare before cursing his existence and promptly turning on their heel and going back to whatever stinky hovel they came from. His most interesting visitor, the young elf from the carriage, decided to introduce herself by firing an arrow through the tome that he had been reading at the time. She then promptly ran away, spurting some nonsense warning him not to try any of his ‘magey shit’ on her. She clearly doesn’t realise that he can’t do any of his ‘magey shit’ because the blasted bracelet will not come off! No matter what he tries, and he has tried many things from rusty nails to butter knives to the blade he had managed to steal from an inquisitorial guard during one of their patrols, none of them worked! The material must laced with magic other than the initial suppression spell that prevented it from being cut.

 While the young elf’s visit was brief and definitely had his heart jumping into his throat, she was a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of Skyhold who stuck to less direct approaches, such as tucking aggressive anonymous notes into his books, or sending him his food with a nice glob of spit in the centre.

Dorian can usually handle spiteful comments and abuse, he is from Tevinter after all, a place which he likes to think of as the capital of backstabbing, but, unfortunately, there is only so much abuse one man can take. At least with the Venatori he had a few people to confide in, people who, similar to him, had joined the cause because they believed they were out of other options. They may not have been the kindest of people but at least they talked to him without cursing the day he was born.

Most days Dorian found himself wondering that if he could use time magic to travel back to not follow Alexius into Corypheus’ army, would he have been happier? Most scenarios were a well resounded nowhere he found himself in a similar situation to the one he is in now, surrounded by hundreds that hated him just inside the walls of his family’s estate in Tevinter rather than the gusty walls of Skyhold. At least Tevinter is warm and has good food. Then again the servants probably used to serve him spit-laden food all the time. His parents liked to treat their servants like verbal training dummies, throwing every insult at them on a daily basis.

But truly, if he was given the opportunity to go back in time and decide whether to follow Alexius or stay behind, would he chose the same option? Would he still choose the path that led to him becoming a member of the Venatori? Alexius had saved him from a life of drunkenness, debauchery and destruction, he had taken him under his wing when no one else could even bare to look at him. He had been the closest thing to a parental figure that Dorian had ever, and would most likely ever have, so yes, he probably would choose to follow him again. The real question is would he choose the Venatori again? Probably not. Maybe, if he travelled back in time he could meet with the inquisition as an ally rather than an enemy, offer up his services, and maybe, just maybe, they would welcome him into their ranks as an equal. Ha! What cloud are you living on right now? Dorian thinks to himself with a derisive snort. He is from Tevinter, what sane Fereldan, Orlesian, Nevarran, Antivan or any other nationality would trust a mage from Tevinter?

His mind flickers briefly to the thought of Theodore before he shakes his head and attempts to continue reading his book. That’s the last person he needs to dwell on, the man hadn’t even bothered to visit in the three weeks since showing him to his room. Dorian wasn’t stupid, he didn’t think that himself and the inquisitor would become best friends, but he thought that the man would at least visit once, even if it was to ask him for information on the Venatori. But no, nothing.

Dorian had had more time to think in the last few weeks than he had had in years. He had tried to distract himself with the books which were brought to him daily, but for some reason, he could never stop his mind from wandering. If he had the option, he would live in the tavern downing drink after drink just to silence the voice in the back of his head and the sucking void that constantly pulsed in the back of his head from his cut-off magic.

His lack of magic was really beginning to suck, not just in the emotional sense but also in a physical sense. He found that he would tire much more easily. He used to be able to spend days awake when he was particularly engrossed in his research. Now however he found his eyes drooping after reading a couple of pages and the walk from his room to gardens often had him a little out of breath. Was this the bracelets doing, or was he just out of shape? A lot had happened and any normal human being would tire, wouldn’t they?

Leliana visits him every day, asking him a few questions, sometimes on his life back in Tevinter, sometimes about Corypheus and sometimes about any findings he may have come across in his readings, but she was never there for more than 5 minutes or so. She also isn’t the most fun person to talk to, sometimes he thinks that he catches a glimpse of a sense of humour but she quickly smothers it. She is a woman who could probably rival even his own mother in the art of the ‘Grand Game’, she is truly unreadable when she wants to be.

He also occasionally conversed with the elf a floor down from him, Solas he thinks is his name, but it is usually very one-sided. In fact, he might as well be talking to himself most of the time.

Today Dorian is pacing by the bookcases, searching for the books the inquisition has about Tevinter. So far, most of the books he has come across are dull and brief at best and the rest paints his country as an evil force that once conquered all of Thedas under its iron fist. Trite propaganda!

 He pauses by a bookcase, scanning his fingers across the spines of a couple of books before a certain title grabs his attention. ‘A Theoretical Exploration of Time Magic’ by Magister Gereon Alexius. How in the Holy Makers arse did they get a hold of this? There are only about 20 copies in existence!

“You’ll find that our Spymaster and Ambassador are very skilled people.” A voice pipes up quietly from the floor below causing Dorian to jump and almost drop the book. Now the elf chooses to respond? Come to think of it the only responses he has ever received from the elf seem to be when he is talking to himself.

“Evidently.” Dorian responds, still not quite processing that he is holding a book that he helped to write in his hands. A memory for a time that feels far too long ago. He walks over to the balcony and leans over to see the elf staring up at him from where he is sat at his desk, a steaming cup of what looks like tea in one hand.

“The Ambassador called in some favours after we returned from Redcliffe. I’ve read it. There are some interesting theories in there. Your observation of the fades involvement is wrong, but that is to be expected of a couple of humans from Tevinter.”

Dorian finds himself laughing at the elf’s bluntness, that’s right go right for the ego, what a great conversation starter! “Jealous that a human mage from Tevinter discovered Time magic before the elves?” Dorian retorts but Solas doesn’t respond, simply taking a long sip of tea before leaning back in his chair.

“You believe that you discovered Time magic? That wasn’t my conclusion from reading the book, apparently, all of your attempts failed.” Ouch, again, straight for the ego. “And it was a very basic attempt at time magic if I must say so myself. Reliance on something as mundane as an amulet isn’t that impressive.” He finishes, even having the cheek to give him a small mocking smile.

“And what would you have suggested?” Dorian asks, his curiosity overriding his instincts to defend his pride. Alexius had been captured before he could tell Dorian about his successes with Time Magic. He knew his former mentor had been messing around with the amulet in the few months after they had joined the Venatori forces, he had even helped him with it now and again when both were at the base camp, but he didn’t realise he had got it working. Of course he also hadn’t had the opportunity to discuss it with Alexius since he has been captured, the main reason being that he isn’t allowed to leave the tower unless surrounded by at least four guards, and after the incident on the day of his sentencing, he didn’t exactly trust them, so he hardly ever leaves his floor.

Solas looks a little startled at Dorian’s question, clearly expecting a different response. “I have no personal experience with time magic –“ Dorian laughs and the elf ignores him “but I believe you will find time magic to be much simpler and easier to control if you harnessed spirit magic. The manipulation of the fabric of time seems to, from what I have read on the subject, require a similar skill to that of spirit healing.”

“Oh, I assure you, manipulating the strands of time and strands of tissue are very different.” Dorian replies with a dismissive snort not wanting to admit that his theory may actually be useful.

“That may be true.” He replies calmly. “But it is something to consider.”

“I am also not willing to host a spirit simply to travel through time.” That admission is at least true. He doesn’t want to be tied to a spirit, not now, now ever.

The elf looks back down at the papers on his desk and Dorian sighs, taking his sudden silence to mark the end of their conversation and he turns back to the face the bookcase, his fingers flicking through the pages and he is unsurprised when a note falls onto the ground with the words ‘You Tevinter scum, go back to where you came from’ scrawled messily across it. How lovely.

“You are a scholar are you not Dorian?” Solas asks.

Dorian looks back at him suspiciously, “I enjoy reading and research if that is what you were getting at.”

“What is your opinion on Corypheus?” He asks and Dorian sighs, Leliana had probably asked him to talk to him in an attempt to get more information out of him.

“Are you asking me as a scholar or as a former Venatori?”

“It is good that you refer to your association to the Venatori in past tense.” He replies and Dorian bites his tongue against a series of retorts that would certainly not gain him any favours. “I did not mean to offend,” Solas continues, “Corypheus believes he walked the fade and saw the seat of the Maker himself. I do not believe that to be true I was just wondering what your opinion was, from one scholar to another.”

Dorian frowns at him, he always assumed the Magisters of old were simply legends and nothing more, but meeting Corypheus in person had certainly changed his mind.

“Have you ever seen Corypheus?” Dorian asks him and the elf pauses before shaking his head, “he is horrifying and he certainly believes that he saw the halls of the Maker.”

“And this is what makes him even more dangerous.” The elf states simply.

Dorian runs one hand through his moustache out of habit before leaning even further over the railing. “Indulge me Solas, what does the inquisitors mark do? Why, if it is the only thing which can access the fade, does Corypheus want to destroy it?”

“Forgive me Dorian, but I am not sure that I should tell you.” Of course he couldn’t, Dorian thinks to himself. If Dorian were to escape, he could return to Corypheus and tell him everything he knows about the inquisitor and his followers. It clearly doesn’t matter how many times he speaks out against the Venatori and its blighted leader.

“No, I completely understand.” Dorian says with a resigned sigh, “I wouldn’t trust me either under the circumstances. But can you answer me one thing?”

“Possibly.”

“The inquisitor, is he –“

The words die on Dorian’s lips as the door to Solas’ office flings open and the inquisitor enters, limping over to the desk before leaning on it heavily. The man is truly a sight for sore eyes, a large bruise stains his left cheek and several cuts litter his arms and face. The man looks like he has just come from fighting a Druffalo in the courtyard.

“Inquisitor.” Solas says, standing to meet the man, “are you alright?”

“Yes Solas, I just had to sort a minor quarrel in the courtyard.” He says, wincing as he dabs at a cut on his lip with the back of his hand. Solas glances up at Dorian, probably checking to see if he was still watching and the concern in his eyes matches Dorian’s own. Theodore follows Solas’ gaze and meets Dorian’s eye. Dorian smiles at him as brightly as he can but Theodore ignores him, shifting awkwardly before leaning in to Solas.

“Solas, may I have a word.”

“Of course, inquisitor.” Solas says, giving Dorian a final glance before placing his teacup on the table.

“Privately,” he adds coldly.

Taking the hint, Dorian sighs and wanders back over to the armchair and props open the book in an attempt to begin reading. He manages to read two pages before giving up, the inquisitors voice carries easily in such a confined space, and he can’t help but listen in as he recalls the tales of the nightmares which are plaguing him. The elf is relating it all back to his mark and how it may be manipulating the fade in his dreams. An interesting theory but not the one Dorian would have personally gone with.

As a boy he was plagued with recurring dreams where he was trapped in a room in the Magisterium and faceless Magisters would enter and cast a glyph on the wall while Dorian sat and read, when the last one entered a storm would begin that tore bricks from the walls and would suck everything from within the room into it as it struck lightning at the floor. After several unfortunate incidents involving a wardrobe, two chairs and his entire bedframe, his father had taken him to see a healer who specialised in illnesses of the mind. Apparently his great-grandmother suffered from an illness which made her hear voices which did not exist and his father was concerned that Dorian had inherited her illness. Luckily for Dorian, it was the simple explanation of the fade replicating the problems which plague your subconscious. He never worked out what the problem was, but after taking a tonic for a few weeks, the dreams seemed to disappear.

“We all know that spirits and demons alike are drawn to your mark,” he hears Solas observe, “it wouldn’t surprise me if they affect your normal wanderings of the fade.”

Before he can help himself Dorian snorts with laughter, Solas may be an expert in all things fade related, but that doesn’t mean everything relates to it. Dorian may be wrong, and the inquisitors mark may be causing havoc with his dreams, but hasn’t he had the mark for months now? And hasn’t he been complaining of these dreams affecting him over the last few weeks?

 “I believe our new addition may also have a theory about your problem, inquisitor.” He hears Solas mutter quietly and Dorian finds himself leaning forward in his chair waiting for the man’s response.

He hears the inquisitor’s footsteps move towards the staircase and Dorian feels himself tense in anticipation.

“Not a good idea.” The inquisitor replies firmly, his voice bitter and the words hit Dorian like a bolt to the chest. Was the thought of talking to him really so repulsive? He understands that he is a topic of disgust to most of the residents of Skyhold, but the Inquisitor? He thought that the man at least tolerated him, he had saved his life twice now after all and vice versa, but, clearly, he was wrong.

 An awkward silence follows and it isn’t long before he hears the creak of hinges quickly followed by the slam of the door.

“You’ll have to forgive him; he has a lot on his plate at the moment.” Solas says after a couple of moments, his voice echoing off the stone wall.

“I understand completely.” Dorian replies, tucking his book under his arm before disappearing into his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try and keep updates as regular as possible, but I don't have a beta so things are often slow on my end as I try to at least edit each chapter at least twice before I send it out. I really do appreciate all of you and the kudos and the comments really do make my day and spur me to write. xx


	18. What a mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets attacked. Again.

Dorian hates himself for letting the words of a single man affect him like this, but as he sits with his head in his hands at the end of the bed, his eyes running over the swirls of the grains in the wooden floorboards, he can’t help but replay the man’s words over and over in his mind.

‘Not a good idea’ is what he had said. Why was the idea of speaking to Dorian ‘not a good idea’? And why had he said it with such a strong tone of hatred, as if the mere thought of conversing with Dorian deeply disgusted him.

There is a hard knock on the door and Dorian mumbles a half-hearted response and he watches out of the corner of his eye as a guard opens the door with a tray in his hands.

“Just set it on the table.” Dorian says with a sigh, gesturing half-heartedly at the table near the window. Surely it is obvious by now where to place the tray of food.

The guard obeys, his footfalls heavy as he wanders over and sets the cup and plates on the table.

Why does he care so much? Dorian thinks to himself, his mind returning to yesterday’s encounter with the inquisitor. He has been slighted by many men in the past and betrayed by several others but he has never let it bother him before. So why can’t he move past this one? It’s not like he desires the man’s attention; he can cope very well without him thank you very much.

There is a shuffle of feet by the door and Dorian can see the figure of the young guard out of the corner of his eye, standing by the door holding tightly onto the tray.

“You can go.” Dorian says, waving his hand impatiently at the man. Normally he would jump on the chance for a conversation with even the dullest member of the inquisitorial guard, but right now he just wants to be left alone to stew. The man still doesn’t move.

The man still doesn’t move.

“I said-“ the words catch in his throat as he looks up at the young guard. The man is stood as still as a statue, every muscle in his body tensed as he looks at Dorian with an expression of such pure hatred that it sends a chill up his spine. This is not going to be good.

Dorian swallows, “thank you for the food,” he says politely. The guard doesn’t reply, his knuckles white as he grips onto the tray which rattles against his armour as his hands begin to shake. Dorian's eyes scan the man's body warily; two daggers on his belt and a sword on his hip, one dagger in his boot and a blade sheathed in his sleeve, there is no way that Dorian is going escape with his

Dorian's eyes scan the man's body warily; two daggers on his belt and a sword on his hip, one dagger in his boot and a blade sheathed in his sleeve. There is no way that Dorian is going escape with his life this time, this man is far too prepared for that eventuality.

Dorian stands from the bed, his movements slow and deliberate as he moves towards the desk where he knows he has a dagger stashed in the lower draw. He watches the guard’s reflection in the window as he leans down and opens the draw, managing to suppress a flinch as he hears the door behind him close. At least the door can’t lock, Dorian thinks to himself as he rummages through the soft fabrics in which the dagger is stashed.

Aha, he thinks to himself as his hand meets the solid metal blade which he draws discretely into his sleeve.

The guard moves out of the sight of the reflection but Dorian can hear his heavy footfalls getting closer and closer until he can feel the heat of the man at his back.

“You flatter me, but I assure you, you are of no interest to me I’m afraid. I like a man with a little more-“ he turns to give the guard a quick look up and down before continuing, “personal hygiene.”

The guard clenches his fist and a muscle in his face begins to twitch as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. “No response? How disappointing,” Dorian says, feeling a little braver now that he has his dagger. This was always going to happen; he was just surprised that it had taken this long. He’d expected an attempt a day at least.

The man moves and pulls a dagger from the sheath at his hip, his hands shaking as he continues to stare. “You-“ He says finally, his voice shaking with rage, “You killed my brother, on the mountain. I – I didn’t even get to mourn over his body. His body was amongst those burnt beyond recognition. You are a monster, and –“ He pauses, doubt briefly flashing across his face “I need to kill you.”

Dorian’s chest feels heavy as he stares at the man in front of him. Why couldn’t he just be a normal heartless murderer? Why did he need to make Dorian feel like the villain in the process?

“I-“ Dorian starts in an attempt to defend himself, but the rest of the sentence dies on his lips as the man takes another step, the dagger in his hand now dangerously close to Dorians face. Maybe he should just let him do it.

“A young boy in the camp outside, he was orphaned when a group of Venatori mages attacked his camp in the Hinterlands.” The man continues taking a few more step forwards. “Daneel never got to see the birth of his own child,” he takes another step forward, “and Matthew, he – I – I never got to tell him that -” The man’s voice cracks and he growls before lunging at Dorian, slashing wildly with the dagger. Dorian winces as the dagger catches his shoulder, the blade stinging as it slashes cleanly through his shirt to graze at the expose skin just below his collarbone.

 “I am so sorry.” Dorian says unable to think of anything else to say. He knows the words won’t help, but he knows that he is sorry. He is truly, truly sorry for what himself and his countrymen did while under the banner of the Venatori. He may not want to take back leaving Tevinter to follow Alexius, but he would definitely take back joining them in the blink of an eye.

“Sorry!” The man sobs, drawing his second dagger from his waist, “Don’t give me your pathetic apologies Vint, they won’t bring them back!” Dorian swallows thickly, the man is right, to this man and the rest of Thedas his apologies are empty and there is nothing he can do to prove how truly sorry he is.

The man’s hands are shaking and Dorian holds up his own in surrender. He releases the dagger and feels it slip down his sleeve to rest at the crook of his elbow; it’s a risky move, but one he is willing to take if it means neither of them gets hurt. The man is broken but he is clearly still a good man, and good men have a conscience.

“You really don’t want to do this. Killing me would make you just as bad as me.” Dorian says, slightly ashamed at how pathetic he sounds.

“As bad as you, Vint? I think not!” He says and Dorian takes a step backwards only to meet the sharp wooden edge of his meal table.

“Maybe not as bad as me!” Dorian replies quickly, still holding his hands up, “But think about this, actually think about this and you will realise that you don’t want to do this. You don’t have to do this!”

A small sob sounds from the back of the mans throat, “I do! I have to do this!” He cries out.

“No, you don’t. If you leave now then nobody needs to know about this. I won’t tell anyone and you won’t get into trouble.” Dorian says and holds his breath and watches as the cogs begin to turn in the young guard’s mind. After what feels like a decade the man shakes his head, his brows pulled together into a conflicted frown.

“No, I – we pulled straws. I have to.” He says taking in a long shaky breath as he raises his dagger, his eyes locked on Dorian’s own. “ I have to.” He repeats.

“Who did you pull straws with?” Dorian asks quietly; if he can keep him thinking and keep him doubting his actions, he might be able to come up with a way to get past him. If only he had his magic! He knows that he normally longs for his magic over the littlest things, like when the fireplace is unlit or when he is having to read by candlelight rather than by his own magical wisp, but right now magic would be indescribably helpful. A small ice spell to the feet, or an all over body paralysis and he could slip past him and out of the door to call for someone.

The guard looks a little taken back by the question “You want to know who drew straws to kill you?” He asks quietly.

“Yes.” Dorian replies, surely it was an understandable question.

“Well – everyone.” He states as if it is the most obvious answer in the world.

“Everyone?” Dorian whispers to himself. Everyone wanted him dead? He knew that many were angry over the result of his trial and he knew that most wanted him dead. But to hear it from another being and to hear him say that it wasn’t just a lot of people but everyone, well, that stung. Dorian has not felt so alone in a very long time. Suddenly the ranks of the Venatori don’t seem so repulsive.

No! He thinks, mentally shaking his head. The Venatori are the whole reason that everyone wants him dead.

There is a slam of a door in the distance and the young guard flinches and lurches forwards, swiping again with the blade which Dorian only just manages to dodge. The sound was too distant for it to signal that anyone was coming this way, and, even if they were, they were unlikely to want to help him if they heard him screaming for help so he stays quiet. The guard makes another slash which sends Dorian stumbling backwards, his hip slamming against the wooden table sending his plate of food clattering to the ground. The young guard’s eyes go wide as he makes another blind swipe and Dorian recognises the haze that falls like a curtain across his pupils. It’s the battle haze. He’s seen the same look so many times, often in the eyes of his own men. Their eyes mist over and suddenly no one is home and the only thing that they want to do is spill blood.

The guard brings down the blade aimed right at Dorian's forehead and, in a small flash of luck, Dorian dodges, his heart racing as he feels the blade slam into the wood millimetres from his left cheek. He takes the opportunity to bring his knee as hard and as fast as he can into the guard’s groin. Normally he would never fight so dirty, this kind of fighting is for messy bar fights and uncivilised brawls, but right now he is without magic and his safety dagger is halfway up his sleeve, so civilised can go and screw a wyvern for all he cares.

The young guard doubles over and Dorian makes an attempt to break past him but the guard manages to catch him by the sleeve, Dorian’s dagger sliding free in the process, clattering to the ground loudly. Now he is well and truly unarmed.

There is another sound from somewhere in the fortress but the guard doesn’t respond this time, dislodging the blade from the wood with a small grunt as he shifts himself so that he is standing tall and imposing above Dorian. The man’s face is now completely devoid of emotion, a strange contrast to the man who had been ready to cry moments ago. He holds Dorian to the table with one arm as he lifts the blade above his head with the other.

“May the Maker have mercy on my soul” he hears the guard whisper and Dorian closes his eyes, preparing himself for a death that he has escaped far too many times in the last few months.

“Stop!” A voice cries out from somewhere within the tower beyond the door. “someone get in there and stop him!”

“What?”

“They sent him to try and kill Dorian.”

They’ve found out Dorian thinks, a little bit of hope fluttering in his chest before his brain manages to catch up with him. It doesn’t matter that they know he is being attacked because it only takes a second to take a man’s life, and it will take more than a second for them to get up to his room. Any moment now, the man will plunge the dagger into his throat and that would be the end of it.

The air stills in the room and Dorian winces in preparation. Surely the guard knows that he is going to be punished no matter the outcome, so what does he have to lose?

Seconds tick by agonisingly slow and it feels like an hour has passed by the time the door to his room flies open. Dorian turns his head a little just in time to see a very red-faced and heavily armoured inquisitor lift the young guard by the neck before slamming him against the nearby wall.

“How dare you!” He yells, his voice shaking with rage as gets up close to the young guard.

“Put him down Theodore.” Dorian hears a voice from the doorway and he turns to find the inquisitors advisors all stood awkwardly at the doorway. The tall man in the fur, the same man from that night on the mountain steps into the room and holds up a hand calmly before continuing, “he will be punished, but it will ruin your reputation if you kill a member of your own guard in a fit of rage.”

“A fit of rage, is that what you would call this Cullen? He tried to kill him! If we had gotten here any later then he would have succeeded, and this is the second time this has happened since he got here!” The white-haired man shouts in reply, not removing his hand from the young guard’s throat.

Dorian tries to come up with some sort of witty retort but finds himself coming up short; with all the adrenaline still raging through his system, all he can bring himself to do is to stand there spectating gormlessly until he can remember how to talk.

“He is a member of your guard, Cullen. You should have known about this.” The inquisitor retorts, his hands gripping the guards neck a little harder causing the man’s eyes to bulge as his face slowly begins to resemble the deep burgundy shade of the Commander’s armour.

“I quite agree, inquisitor, but killing him now is not the answer.” He replies quickly, as he grabs hold of one of the inquisitor’s arms.

“We feel awful about this inquisitor, truly, and we will look into upping our security of Master Pavus later, but for now I must agree with Commander Cullen. Killing a guard while defending Master Pavus would certainly earn us no favours.” A young woman pipes up. It’s the same woman from the trial, Dorian notes, the inquisitions Ambassador if he’s not mistaken; so she must be Josephine.

 “Of course you agree with him Josephine, just because you want to fuck him!” The inquisitor spits in anger.

“Inquisitor – I – Cullen that is not –“ Josephine chokes and the Commander flushes bright red. Dorian would be grateful for the theatrical display before him if he had not been in it moments before. It would certainly be a performance worthy of the stages in Minrathous; overdramatic, cutting and with just enough brutality and scandal to keep the nobility entertained.

“Theodore Arnold Trevelyan!” Leliana says with a hiss and the room falls silent as she pushes into the room, moving past Josephine to stand before the still flushed Commander. “You will let go of this young man right now and we will return to the war room to discuss this while our guards send him to a jail cell.”

Theodore loosens his grip a little, but that is the only indication that he has even listened to the woman. “I am not a child, Leliana. Do not speak to me like one.”

“Then do not behave like a child.” She scolds him.

There is a brief pause, with only the sound of gurgling gasps to be heard before the inquisitor sighs, the tension seeping from his limbs like a slackened bow string as he releases the young guard who falls to the floor, clutching his hands to his chest as he chokes through deep gulps of air.

Despite the fact that he was trying to kill him moments ago, Dorian does feel a small pang of sympathy for the man, after all, three weeks ago he had been in his position and he’s almost certain that Theodore will not heal this man like he did Dorian.

Theodore looks down at the man for a moment before yelling loudly and thumping and kicking at the wall in a surge of rage that is sure to break a couple of bones.

All ambassadors, even Leliana, stand stunned at the display momentarily. Cullen is the first to move, eyeing the inquisitor cautiously before helping the young guard to his feet.

“I’ll meet you in the war room in an hour or so, inquisitor.” The man says quietly as he swiftly retreats from the room with the young guard in tow. Clearly whatever the inquisitor had said had struck a nerve with his commander.

Josephine moves to follow him but pauses as she reaches the doorway.

“It’s okay, Josie. Go after him.” Leliana says with a gentle smile. Josephine nods firmly and moves past two guards who are now stood just outside the door. Dorian can’t help wondering if those two guards had been there earlier. It certainly wouldn’t surprise him.

The room is silent. Awkward silences seem to have become an all too familiar feeling for Dorian recently, and if he was to rank all of the awkward silences he has ever experienced in his life, then this one would definitely make the top three. At least the inquisitor has stopped punching the wall now, he beginning to worry that he would have to get someone in to fix a dent in the stonework.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana asks patiently as the man stands, leaning his head resignedly against the brick wall.

“What Leliana?” The man asks through gritted teeth, not even trying to keep the bitter contempt from his tone.

“We should go to the war room so that we can discuss our next actions.” She replies, unfazed.

He takes a deep breath before turning to face the woman, his face much more sorrowful and guilty than Dorian had expected.

“What more can we do, Leliana?” He asks, his voice sounding desperate and almost a little broken. Leliana sighs softly and walks over to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder which he shrugs off.

“You have done a lot over these last couple of weeks, but it won’t always be this bad, people forget. They don’t necessarily forgive, but they always forget.” She replies and Theodore sags his weight against the wall as he nods in agreement

“I certainly hope that is true.” He replies, suddenly looking incredibly tired. Dorian is confused, are they still talking about his attack? Or is this to do with why he had looked so beaten and bruised when he saw him in the tower with Solas the other day?

“Hello, sorry to interrupt this lovely moment, but I have a complaint or two to make about Skyhold’s security. Firstly, I’m don’t think the purpose of a security guard should be to attack those that they are supposed to protect.” Dorian says, finding his mouth moving before he can think and he swallows back the rest of his rant as he catches the inquisitors eye. In Tevinter, expressing your feelings openly was very taboo so Dorian felt extremely taken back when the man looked back at him with such an intense expression of guilt and sorrow that it looked like he was about to burst out into a melancholic tavern ballad.

“It will not happen again.” Theodore replies and Dorian is shocked by how different this man before him is to the man who gave him such an icy reception the other day. How had he gone from disgust at the thought of talking to him one day, to almost killing a man in his defense the next?

“Leliana, can you give me a moment with Dorian please.” He says quietly and shoots Leliana a pleading glare before the woman can respond.

“As you wish,” Leliana says,  straightening herself up before heading for the door, “Meet me in the war room after you have finished here.” She says firmly before turning and closing the door behind her.

Dorian stands up from where he was perched on the table and moves cautiously towards Theodore who is stood staring vacantly at the bedpost.

“I apologise for what I said. I understand that I am a very wanted man and I am impressed that your assigned guards managed to keep them off me for this long already.” Dorian says as softly as he can manage.

The inquisitor gives a small weak laugh, “Thank you but my security-” the inquisitor says, with a strong emphasis on the word ‘security’, “shouldn’t have let that slide past him today. He should have been more alert.” The man says through gritted teeth and Dorian feels his stomach drop as his mind processes what the inquisitor has said.

“You – you are my security?”

“I am the only one I trust not to kill you.” The man replies with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Dorian snorts, “Really, you offend me that you don’t believe that my stunning looks and loveable personality can win some of them around.” Theodore shoots him a look that says that now is not the time for jokes and Dorian sighs to himself as he comes to a realisation. “That other day, when you came into the tower to talk to Solas and you were covered in cuts and bruises-“

“It was a small scuffle in the courtyard, nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Please tell me that you threw them in a jail cell for abusing their inquisitor!” Dorian responds, the rush of protectiveness throwing him a little off balance.

“If I did that nowadays I wouldn’t have any followers left, other than my inner circle that is, but even they don’t think that I’ve done the right thing, especially not Bull.” The inquisitor responds, his brows drawn together tightly as he continues to stare.

“Is that why you were so frosty with me?” Dorian asks, almost not wanting to know the answer. He wouldn’t be surprised if the inquisitor blamed him for all the bad attention he was receiving. Dorian blames himself too.

“Frosty? I- Oh sweet maker! I didn’t –“ Theodore sighs, looking at Dorian apologetically before running a hand through his hair, giving the ends a gentle tug as he slides down the wall to sit slumped on the floor. Dorian moves to stand beside him and he takes the sign that the inquisitor doesn’t shift away as permission for him to join him so he lowers himself to sit beside the man, leaning against the wall as he tries to think of something to say that isn’t from his usual repertoire of witty one-liners or suggestive comments.

“I didn’t mean to be frosty with you,” The inquisitor says quietly, and Dorian feels a small flutter of relief in his chest, “I just haven’t been sleeping.” He admits and Dorian feels another wave of concern wash over him. He had been so preoccupied with the fact that the inquisitor had blown him off, that he hadn’t even noticed how visibly drained the man looks. “I don’t know why I am telling you this.” Theodore says with a small resigned laugh.

“Well if it is any comfort, it’s nice to hear that you are grumpy when you are tired, I was beginning to worry that you were so perfect that you could shit rainbows.”

“Shit rainbows?” Theodore says with an amused smile and Dorian feels a warmth spread in his chest at the sight. He’s glad that he can make the man smile because he never wants to see that pained expression on his face ever again. It is too heart breaking.

“Can you shit rainbows?” Dorian asks giving Theodore his biggest grin.

Theodore smiles at him in return and rolls his eyes. “Obviously not. But maybe you should ask Josephine if anyone was perfect enough it would be her.” He replies and Dorian finds himself laughing as he imagined the sight.

“Oh I wouldn’t be so sure, the lovely ones always hold the darkest secrets. Your Commander on the other hand-“

“Oh Cullen would never shit rainbows, he’s far too manly for that!” Theodore jokes and Dorian finds himself laughing with him, finding it hilarious that the inquisitor can go from killer to comedian in the blink of an eye. His golden amber eyes sparkle despite the dim light of the room and Dorian finds that he enjoys making the man laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. That man blushes like a cherub.” Dorian says. The inquisitor laughs even harder before gasping.

“That was wrong of me wasn’t it?” Theodore says, hiding his smile behind his hand.

“What? Your little outburst about your Commander’s little crush. Maybe a little bit crude, yes.” Dorian replies.

Theodore erupts into laughter again, “I feel so terrible!”

He stops laughing suddenly with a little gasp and Dorian looks at him in concern. “What is it?”

“He caught you.” He says, his fingers touching tentatively at the torn material of his shirt, “that bastard is going to rot in a jail cell for this.” He says his voice a low growl as his amber eyes flash dangerously and Dorian doesn’t doubt him. That poor guard.

“It’s just a small cut.” Dorian says, brushing him off light-heartedly a little worried at the warm feeling that is rising in his chest. Why is he fussing so much over a little scratch, he knows for a fact that Dorian has dealt with worse.

Theodore Trevelyan is a very confusing man, a few hours ago he seemed to make it perfectly clear that he would rather talk to Corypheus than Dorian. Yet here he is, sitting beside him looking at Dorian with his face drawn in concern over a scratch that barely broke the skin.

Theodore holds his hands out, looking at Dorian expectantly, “are you going to let me heal it?” He asks and Dorian can’t help but laugh. The man looks a little confused, obviously not sure whether he should be offended or not.

“Are you trying to deprive me of impressive battle scars, inquisitor?” Dorian asks, grinning as he allows the man to place his hand over the cut and begin to heal.

Theodore snorts, his fingers brushing the skin as he seals the cut cleanly. “You don’t strike me as the type to like battle scars, Dorian.”

“True, I wouldn’t want them marring my perfectly good looks.” Dorian says, gesturing towards himself with a flourish of one hand. The inquisitor smiles gently but there is a vacancy in his eyes that concerns Dorian. He is holding back, something which Dorian knows all too well, and while Dorian wants him to feel like he can open up to him, he also doesn’t want to risk it. The inquisitor is already being beaten up on his behalf, the last thing he needs to do is encourage the man to continue helping him.

Was he starting to care for the man? Is this what the funny feeling in his chest is? No, he just doesn’t want him to get hurt on his behalf, he wouldn’t want **anyone** to get hurt on his behalf. He is not even Dorian’s type. He normally goes for the typical tall, dark, and handsome warriors who can hoist him over their shoulder with ease. Theodore is slim and pale, with a shock of messy white hair and the most gorgeous pair of amber eyes he has ever seen. Okay, so he is definitely attracted to the man, and it certainly doesn’t help with how close the man is currently sat. The man’s warmth seeps through the thin material of his shirt and his fingers set his skin tingling where they ghost the skin underneath the torn material near his collarbone. He tries to shake off the feeling of disappointment he feels when those fingers are withdrawn.

“No, we certainly wouldn’t want that.” Theodore replies, his voice so low that it sends a flush through Dorian. He should move away, create a little distance between the two of them before he makes a mistake that he knows he will regret. He likes the man, and he doesn’t want to ruin whatever form of friendship they hold by doing something stupid like grabbing him roughly by the hair and kissing him against the wall.

Alarm bells begin to sound in the back of Dorian’s head as he takes a deep breath, the intoxicatingly sweet scent of woodland making him feel a little light headed as the inquisitor moves a hand along Dorian’s shirt, straightening out the collar from its slightly dishevelled shape. Move away Dorian, move away, he thinks to himself as his heart begins to thrum quickly in his chest, but the man’s body heat feels so good in this drafty little room that Dorian can’t bring himself to move.

“Dorian,” the Inquisitor whispers intensely, “I was worried about you.” Dorian looks at him startled, his heart leaping into his throat as the alarm bells sound even louder. “I brought you back here thinking it would make you safer, but I have just put you in more danger and for that I am sorry.”

Abort! Abort! The man looks like he has just watched someone kick puppy and Dorian’s chest aches just looking at him. Abort!

“I haven’t been safe my entire life, inquisitor. Growing up in a family as prestigious as mine makes you a target from the moment you take your first breath I’m afraid.” Dorian says, watching the man’s face carefully. He doesn’t know what life as a noble is like in the south, but it is true, he had lost count of the number of attempts on his life. They were poor attempts all of them, but they were attempts nonetheless and the number of attempts had increased tenfold since the rumours about his sexuality had begun to spread. Apparently bedding a member of the same sex incited a lot of rage in a lot of people who otherwise wouldn’t have bothered with him.

“I’m used to being a pariah, inquisitor. But being a pariah is much easier to handle when you have a means to defend yourself.” Dorian says with a pained smile, his fingers brushing the metal woven bracelet which burns cold against his skin.

Theodore stops fiddling with his sleeve and holds a hand out, “May I?” He says, gesturing towards Dorian’s wrist. Dorian nods and holds his wrist out.

His touch is gentle, just as it has always been as his fingers trace along the woven material his fingers occasionally brushing the skin on the inside of Dorian’s wrist but the man doesn’t seem to notice, his face screwed up in intense concentration.

“Does it hurt?” He asks as he loops a finger underneath the band and gives it a gentle tug.

“Not really.” Dorian replies. It’s true, it doesn’t hurt, it just feels wrong.

Theodore brushes his thumb gently along the skin of Dorian’s palm his expression pained as he stares down at the bracelet. “I can’t imagine not having magic anymore.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Dorian says quietly. He had thought that it would get easier as time goes on; that he would soon learn to ignore the niggling feeling at the back of his head but unfortunately he hasn’t. It feels just as bad as the day that it was put on him.

Dorian hears the familiar sound scrape of metal and watches in hope as the inquisitor slides the blade of the dagger under the bracelet. Of course, he had already tried removing the offending item this way before, but maybe, just maybe, it was only enchanted to ensure that he couldn’t remove it.

“Stay still.” Theodore says, gritting his teeth as he slides the blade underneath the bracelet. Dorian waits with bated breath, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth as he watches Theodore move the dagger outwards in a quick and practised movement. He winces as the bracelet digs sharply into his skin, not even managing to scratch the material. Theodore tries again, and then again, and again, and again, and again, his attempts becoming more desperate until, after one particularly painful tug which is sure to bruise, Dorian places a hand on top of his. It is no good.

“I’ve already tried that I’m afraid. It seems that its creator embedded it with more than just one enchantment.” He says.

Theodore sighs before getting quickly to his feet, the dagger falling to the floor with a clatter.

“No. No, it has to come off somehow!” he says, pacing restlessly, “I am not letting you get attacked over and over again just because of some ridiculous piece of leather!”

“Inquisitor?” A guard says, standing awkwardly in the doorway, his eyes flicking nervously from Theodore to the dagger and then to Dorian. How much had the guard seen, Dorian wonders in amusement.

“What?” Theodore says, his eyes flashing dangerously at the man who dared to interrupt him mid-thought.

“Commander Cullen says to tell you that they are all waiting for you in the war room.”

“Did he now?” Theodore replies and Dorian chuckles as the guards face flushes bright red.

“Erm, yes he did Ser. It seemed pretty urgent.”

“Okay, well tell him that I will be down when I have sorted something out with Mister Pavus here.” Theodore says, waving his hands as he tries to usher the guard out of the door.

“I was told that I have to escort you.” The guard stammers as he stumbles backwards.

Theodore stops and looks down at the guard, “Dorian,” He says calmly without even bothering to look back, “you’re coming with me.”

“I don’t think that –“ The guard starts but his sentence dies as the inquisitor holds up a hand in front of his face.

“He is coming with me.” He repeats slowly and the guard swallows thickly before nodding his head.

“Of course, Ser.” He says as he slowly backs out of the doorway.

Dorian gets to his feet and grabs Theodore roughly by the arm,

“Are you mad?” He hisses as he hears more sets of heavy footsteps making their way quickly up the stairs.

“If they insist on summoning me to a meeting, then you are coming with me.” Theodore says, pulling Dorian up by the arm before leading him out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason none of my replies to comments seem to be sending. But I just want anyone who has commented to know that I really, really appreciate them. I love getting kudos, but it is the comments which always make my day.


	19. Chess and Disagreements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos. I know I'm a slow updater but Kudos and comments definitely help me kick my procrastinating ass back into gear. 
> 
> This is super unedited but I just wanted to post something before I go to sleep and I will edit it tomorrow.  
> xxx

“This is ridiculous, Cullen.” Theodore says loudly as he continues to wear down the stone floor, the heel of his boots squeaking with every turn.

They have been in talks about the recent attacks and the stability of the inquisition for over an hour now and Theodore’s temper is really beginning to draw thin. He loves his advisors as if they are family and unfortunately they are really starting to live up to this comparison. Cullen has been lecturing him for the last twenty minutes like a belligerent mother hen while Josephine stands by his side. Leliana is a stark contrast to the other two as, ever since Theodore made his entrance with Dorian in tow, she has stood with her arms folded, silent and imposing like a deactivated Golem just behind Cullen’s shoulder. If it weren’t for the fact that her eyes continuously flicked from Theodore to Dorian, who is perched on the edge of a cabinet with his feet up on a nearby chair, Theodore would have thought that she had been hit with some sort of powerful paralysis spell.

“You marched him straight through the great hall, in full sight of hundreds of other people. What were you thinking?” Cullen says, running a hand across the back of his neck in exasperation.

Theodore’s blood boils at this and he whips around to face Cullen, “What was I supposed to do then Cullen? Leave him there?”

“Yes.”

“Last time I followed your advice, Cullen, he almost got killed, so forgive me when I say that I don’t regret bringing him with me. Not even a little bit.” Theodore says and he watches a little guiltily as Cullen opens his mouth in an attempt at a comeback but is silenced by Josephine placing a gentle hand at the crook of his elbow.

“What Commander Cullen is trying to say is that he is worried that bringing Master Pavus through the great hall in full view of the midday gathering may not have been the wisest of moves.” Josephine says calmly, her eyes not quite meeting Theodore as he resumes his pacing. “I also don’t think it was wise bringing him here at all.” She adds quietly and Theodore watches out of the corner of his eyes as the woman steels herself for a vicious comeback. Maybe he had been a little too harsh with her earlier.

Instead of turning on her, which is very tempting, he sighs and stops by the war table, leaning heavily on the solid wooden surface.

“If you want him to leave then just say so Josephine.” He says, not even wanting to challenge her. He knows it was a risk bringing him in here, but he didn’t want to leave Dorian alone in the room when he hadn’t got his magic to defend himself with.

“It’s not that I don’t **want** him to be here inquisitor-“

“I don’t think it's a good idea having him in here.” Cullen says, interrupting Josephine before she can finish and Josephine throws him a small appreciative smile. “Not while we discuss important inquisition matters.”

Theodore sighs loudly, “these are hardly inquisition matters, Cullen. Dorian was almost killed, we are here to try and stop that from ever happening again.”

“Discussing the security of one of our prisoners –“

“Allies.” Josephine quietly corrects him as Theodore struggles to compose his frustration.

“Whatever he is,” Cullen says through his teeth, “is certainly an inquisition matter. We can’t discuss our security plans with him here, because, as much as you try and deny it inquisitor, we cannot be sure that he isn’t still a threat. I’m sorry,” he says, turning to face Dorian, “I wish the circumstances were different.”

“I completely understand.” Dorian responds through a tight-lipped smile.

“Perhaps, Commander, you would like to take Dorian out to the gardens for a game of chess while myself and Josephine stay here and continue our discussion.” Leliana says, her voice startling both Cullen and Josephine as she steps forwards to fiddle with one of her own pieces on the war map.

“That’s not-“ Cullen starts and Theodore looks towards Dorian who is watching the scene with amusement.

“What a good idea.” Theodore says with a small smile as he watches Cullen stammer awkwardly, “Just the other day I heard you complaining that you lacked a decent chess partner. What do you say Dorian?” Theodore says with a smile in Dorian’s direction which the mage reciprocates almost gleefully.

Cullen may be irritating at times, but he is still a good man and Theodore has full faith that he will protect Dorian if any threat appears. Not to mention that, as much as he hates to admit it, he knows that he needs to talk to his advisors without Dorian. Cullen will hate not being present, but he automatically assigned himself to Dorian guard duty when he chose to rant for an hour about Theodore’s so-called recklessness.

 Everyone turns to face Dorian and Theodore watches him carefully, hoping that the man doesn’t mind too much that he is dumping him with a man who has made it abundantly clear that he isn’t Dorian’s biggest fan. The mage shows no sign of disapproval as he swivels into a standing position and brushes himself off before smiling widely at Theodore.

“I would have preferred it if you paired me with a more challenging chess partner, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”

Cullen snorts at the mages confidence.

“You would be foolish to underestimate our dear commander’s skill, Dorian.” Leliana says with a small smirk and Theodore finds himself chuckling. He knows Dorian is smart, but he hasn’t yet met anyone who has been able to provide a challenge for Cullen when it comes to chess. “He has brains as well as brawn you know.”

“We’ll have to see about that won’t we.” Dorian replies and Theodore feels a pang of jealousy as he watches the mages eyes roam hungrily over Cullen’s body.

Cullen sighs, but there is a slight quirk to his lips as he moves towards the door.

“I expect to be fully filled in upon my return.” He says wearily as he opens the door and waits for the mage to exit ahead of him. Cullen may not like have liked the idea of spending time with Dorian, but by the look on his face it is clear to Theodore that Cullen is going to enjoy beating an overly confident Dorian.

The room is silent as Theodore watches them go and the silence continues as he stands listening to the echoing retreat of footsteps through the hall and suddenly Theodore feels bitter regret rising up in his chest.

“You need to be more careful, Inquisitor.” Leliana says as soon the doors to the main hall click closed in the distance.

Theodore turns around to see both women staring at him in concern.

“Me?” Theodore asks, his voice higher than he intended. Why did he need to be careful? He thought Leliana, out of everyone, understood why he had brought Dorian to the war room. She had been there to see both assassination attempts and had obviously heard from her abbundance of spies about the multiple instances in the courtyard and the tavern. Surely she of all people would understand why he couldn’t just leave Dorian unarmed and alone anymore. “Why do I need to be more careful?”

“I see the way you look at him,” Leliana says with a small smile and Theodore looks back at her with confusion.

“The way I look at who? Dorian?” Theodore asks, his voice rising even higher and he frowns as Josephine hides her mouth behind her hand as she tries to suppress a small giggle.

“All I’m saying is that you need to be careful.” Leliana says gently, “we have a crazed Tevinter to fight and I’m worried that your mind is becoming occupied with a different Tevinter.”

“I’m worried about him, that doesn’t mean I like him Leliana.” Theodore says defensively, cursing himself when he feels his cheeks burn as Leliana raises an eyebrow disbelievingly. “I don’t like Dorian.” He repeats, because he doesn’t. The man is morally confused in a land that is not his own in a place where everyone wants to kill him and he can’t defend himself because his only real weapon of defence has been taken from him. That’s concern, not infatuation!

“I never suggested that you did.” Leliana says with a giggle and Theodore opens his mouth to reply but comes up short as Josephine also begins to laugh. Theodore huffs; they need to get back to the matter at hand which, seeing as they dragged him away before he could try anything else, is to remove that damned bracelet which is suppressing Dorian’s magic.

 

\--

“Your move.” Dorian says, leaning back in his chair as the gentle heat of the late day sun prickles the skin on his cheeks. The commander is sat opposite, his hands clasped together in front of his mouth as his eyes roam the board. Dorian had assumed that the commander would be an easy game, but oh how wrong he was. They were currently two games in, Dorian having spectacularly lost the first after just a few turns and despite Dorian’s many, many, many attempts at starting some sort of conversation, the Commander just wasn’t having it.

“So, Commander,” Dorian says brightly, might as well give one more try, “how did you land the position of Commander of the Inquisition’s armies? It’s quite the impressive title.”

People often accuse him of liking the sound of his own voice and he can almost hear his mother’s hushed tones in his head as he continues to talk, ‘ _not everything requires your commentary Dorian, sometimes it is silence that speaks the loudest.’._ She certainly wasn’t wrong, but then again no one should have to suffer this sort of suffocating silence.

“You had women practically flocking around you at the Winter Palace. I must say that they have good taste. Did none of them catch your eye?”

Still nothing. Not even a stir other than the occasional flicker of his eyes across the board.

Dorian fiddles with one of the few pieces which he has managed to win off of Cullen, running the miniature marble figure in between his thumb and index finger as he waits patiently for the Commander to show some sign of life.

“I mean, maybe a dalliance with a woman is not your preference. You know it’s funny really, when I first saw you up in the mountains, I thought, quite foolishly I might add, that yourself and the inquisitor – well –“

“Dorian,” Cullen says through gritted teeth and Dorian bites his tongue, glad that he doesn’t have to finish that sentence, “if you concentrated more on the game than filling a silence then you might actually have a chance at beating me.” He says as he finally slides a piece into the middle of the board; checkmate. Dorian looks back at him in shocked amusement, so the man does have a sense of humour after all!

“Are you sassing me, Commander? I didn’t know you had it in you.” He says with a lilted smile as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest as the commander sets about resetting the board.

“I’m not going to lie, I was hoping that you would pose some sort of challenge.” Cullen replies with a small smile which seems very out of character from the man who had led him from the war room with the unspoken threat of death if Dorian so much as breathed a word in his direction.

“So, the man does talk!” Dorian exclaims with a smile

Cullen’s smile falls from his lips but there is still a little glint of humour in his eyes as he gestures towards the board for Dorian to start off the game.

“You seem to be remarkably unrattled for a man who was almost killed about an hour ago.”

“Well,” Dorian says, stretching his hands out in front of him in an attempt to shake off the cramps which were beginning to seize hold of the muscles in his shoulders. How long had they been out here? “I had been expecting an attack a few weeks ago. I’m surprised it took them so long.”

“Yes, well you can thank Inquisitor Trevelyan for that.” Cullen says, his eyes following Dorian as Dorian makes his move and, without a beat of hesitation, he shifts forward one of his pieces in response.

“About that,” Dorian says, trying to mask his need to know behind a tone of mild curiosity, “what exactly did the inquisitor do?”

Cullen chuckles gently, “He almost killed several of my men, that’s what he did. Not that I blame him, the people he attacked were not my best men; I was about to dismiss one of them anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Attempted rape on one of our younger recruits. The man deserved more than a few broken ribs.” He replies, pain reflecting in his eyes as he glances towards Dorian. “He’s an impressive man, the inquisitor; incredibly loyal. If you earn his trust, then you can damn well be assured that he will fight till the death for you. It’s your turn Dorian.”

Dorian looks down at the board and makes another move, winning the game isn’t really at the forefront of his mind right now.

“What are you suggesting? That he trusts me?”

“He certainly seems to.” Cullen replies shifting awkwardly in his chair.

“More fool you for hiring such a trusting man to be your inquisitor.”

“How do you know that I appointed him?”

“Venatori spies are everywhere my friend,” Dorian says with a smile that falters into a grimace, “and before you say anything, no, I will not be able to identify them for you because I never came into contact with many of the other members of the Venatori. We never really had group gatherings. It was more, you can go and kill this man, you can go and find this important artifact, while you over there can go and secure the fortress in the middle of the Hissing wastes. All very hush hush.”

“And you got assigned the small task of killing our inquisitor.”

“Well, technically Alexius was given that task but since he failed, a few of us were assigned to pick up where he left off and, by the looks of it, I am not the only one to have failed.”

The Commander chuckles, “We have beaten quite a few of you.” He moves another piece a few spaces forward and takes one of Dorian’s.

It’s nice to be in the gardens. Dorian hasn’t been outside for weeks and the only form of sunlight he has had is the little which manages to filter through the dust coated window in his room. He would open the windows, but the last time he did that, he came back from his reading to find a large pile of rotten cabbages mushed into his papers which he had foolishly left strewn on his table; it had ruined a solid two days of research.

The leaves which twine around the woven wood of the veranda dapple the sunlight, casting a beautiful pattern of shadows which shift and shiver across the board in the gentle evening breeze. Maybe Theodore was right; he should leave his section of the tower more often. He can’t see himself frequenting the courtyard or the main hall any time soon, but at least for now, this spot in the gardens seems to be as peaceful and as secluded as he can ask for.  He has already accepted that at least six guards were going to follow him wherever he goes. It’s a compliment really. Even without magic, they still pose him as a threat large enough to require six heavily armed and likely well trained guards.

“This game is going to last for hours if you take any longer to make a move.” The Commander says, his voice jolting Dorian out of his trance.

“You can’t rush genius, Commander.” Dorian says as he moves another piece forwards which Cullen immediately takes. His head isn’t really in the game anyway Dorian thinks as he continues to move the piece forwards taking another of Dorian’s pawns.

Dorian smiles up at him as the man lets out a small chuckle as he collects the three pieces he has won from Dorian from the board. If he’s not mistaken, the Commander might be warming up to him.

“Does it not bother you?” Dorian asks, deciding to test the waters a little.

“Does what bother me?”

“Being stuck with me, a villainous Tevinter, while they make decisions without you.”

“I could ask you the same thing, Dorian.” He says and Dorian quickly hides his surprise at hearing his own name by sliding a piece forwards on the board and captures one of Cullen’s pawns in the process. “As far as I am aware, they aren’t discussing anything which needs my expertise, so no, I am not overly concerned.”

“So you are enjoying my company?” Dorian says with his best suggestive smile, “I mean, who wouldn’t.”

“While I would prefer not to be in the company of a Venatori mage-“

“Former” Dorian corrects him, diverting his eyes to focus on the board.

“- I apologise, former Venatori mage,” he says, the word former falling heavy and false from his tongue; it was optimistic of Dorian to think that anyone beyond the inquisitor would believe that he is never going back to Corypheus. “It is certainly nice to clear my head once in a while.” He finished, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck as he looks off into the distance, clearly distracted.

Normally, Dorian would take this opportunity to pocket one or two of Cullen’s pieces, or move one of his own into a more advantageous positions, but he doesn’t think that would be wise given the fact that he is trying to make alliances and the Commander definitely seems like the competitive type.

“Why did the Venatori cut off your magic?” Cullen asks eyeing the bracelet on Dorian’s wrist which has slid free from the sleeve of his shirt.

“A precaution I think.” Dorian replies, remembering the way the elf has apologised profusely as he had clamped the bracelet back on his wrist before fleeing and leaving him bleeding in the secluded area of the courtyard. At first, Dorian had thought that word had got back to Corypheus about Dorian’s failed attempt at what should have been an easy kill on the mountains and that the bracelet was some sort of malicious punishment. Now, however, he thinks it was meant to be some sort of incentive. The bracelet seems to stubbornly remain on his wrist, undamaged despite the number of blades and flames which he has attacked it with. Yet the young elf had removed the bracelet with ease; one slice of his dagger and it had fallen free like it was made of some sort of delicate leather. “They did it to ensure that I would return.” Dorian says quietly, saying the words out loud making his theory sound even more probable.

“But you didn’t.”

“Foolish really.”

“So you wanted to go back?” Cullen asks, his stance immediately straightening and Dorian rolls his eyes as he watches the man flex his fingers instinctively towards the hilt of his sword which is resting against the side of his chair. Cullen slumps, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“I’m guessing that you weren’t blessed with magic Commander?” Dorian says, not even bothering to mask his condescension. The Commander shakes his head a blush creeping up the sides of his neck as he diverts his eyes to look at the board. “Let me paint a picture for you, imagine you wake up one day completely unable to talk because someone has slipped an enchanted necklace around your neck in the middle of the night. This isn’t so bad, I hear you say, but here’s the thing, imagine you can feel your voice at the back of your throat. You go to greet a friend and your throat tenses as if ready to speak but the words catch and slip away back down the back of your throat. Always slipping away no matter how many times you try. You can taste them, almost hear them being said, but nothing happens. You tear at the necklace, the desire to free your voice becoming more and more overwhelming each day to the point that it becomes a drain. You think other people will sympathise with you, and try to help you remove the cursed necklace, except in this world most people can’t talk so they can’t imagine what it feels like, not having something that they never had in the first place.” Dorian takes a deep breath; he doesn’t know where that speech came from and it doesn’t even sound like something he would say but somehow it felt right.

“That’s err – I -“ Cullen starts, seemingly lost for words. His eyes catch on something and he stands up quickly, almost knocking over the board as he does so, “Inquisitor!”

“Are you two playing nice?” Theodore’s voice sounds from just behind Dorian and Dorian jumps and spins to see the man leaning casually on a nearby post.

“I’m always nice.” Dorian says with a small smile as the inquisitor pushes himself off the post and strolls to stand in front of the two men and Dorian tries to ignore the way the man’s fingertips run along the back of his chair as he moves past.

“Anything to report, Inquisitor?” Cullen asks formally, still standing.

“Of course, three things: Cullen, I will need you to select a guard rotation of guards to be assigned as Dorian’s personal guard. I only want a maximum of four guards to be involved in the rotation and I need them to be guards you know well and trust wholeheartedly.”

A personal guard. If someone hadn’t tried to kill Dorian only a few hours prior to this conversation, then Dorian would feel like royalty at the idea of a personal guard.

“Secondly, we will be working daily with Dagna to try and workout how to remove the bracelet which seems to be blocking his magic.”

Now there is something which Dorian wanted to hear. He has no idea who this Dagna person is, but knowing Theodore, even as little as Dorian does, he knows that she is likely the best chance he has at getting the bracelet removed and then promptly stamped on, burnt, and thrown into a deep ravine.

“And thirdly,” Theodore says with a bright smile, “Dorian will be dining with myself and my inner circle for the foreseeable future. With our tightened security they might try less direct methods of attack and this is less likely to be a problem if he joins us. Not many would risk killing the inquisitor and his inner circle just to get at one man.”

“Are you sure that is wise, Inquisitor?” Cullen asks, his eyes flicking over to Dorian briefly and Dorian makes a noise in an attempt to agree with Cullen. Being seen eating with the Inquisitor and his inner circle would likely damage the man’s reputation beyond repair. They might even think that the inquisitor is secretly working with the Venatori. It would be foolish of them to think this, the inquisition was formed to solely fight against the Venatori and their plans, but idle gossip and rumours are often foolish and they spread like wild fire. Within weeks the Venatori will hear that he is dining with the inquisitor, and as much as he denied that hurting his family would bother him, deep down he knows it will break him knowing that he will be the reason they are being targeted.

“I’ve discussed it with Josephine at length and she thinks that she can spin a story that will benefit our reputation and Dorian’s.” He says with a smile and Dorian feels guilty at how unappreciative he clearly looks. The man fought against pretty much the entirety of Thedas to keep him alive and within the walls of Skyhold, yet Dorian can’t help but think how naïve he is in thinking that Dorian can be seen by his side so intimately only a month after the trial. The world still hates him, and the Venatori will not have stopped looking for him.

“Are you okay Dorian?” Theodore says and Dorian realises that his hands are shaking in his lap and he looks up to see Cullen and Theodore looking at him in concern.

“I appreciate your new security measures” Dorian says, his voice weaker than he wishes, “but currently the Venatori will believe that I am your prisoner, even despite the so-called alliance position which I was given at my trial. I may not be overly close with my family, but-“

“Dorian it’s okay!” Theodore interrupts, his bright smile re-emerging and Dorian looks at him questioningly, “We don’t dine in the main hall with everyone else, in fact, you won’t even have to walk through the dining area to get to where we dine.”

“You just admitted that your ambassador is going to spin some sort of clever tale that will explain why I am dining with you.” Dorian says with a sigh. It is nice to hear that the inquisitor wants him to meet with the rest of the inner circle, but the man is being ridiculously naïve once again.

“Right.” Theodore says, his smile not faltering but the distant look in his eyes suggests that he is thinking of some way around it.

“I don’t want you to risk your reputation for me either, inquisitor. As flattering as it is to hear that you want me to dine with you, it is also a bit too risky for my liking. It’s also likely going to be incredibly awkward. As far as I’m aware your ‘inner circle’” Dorian says using air quotes, “aren’t particularly fond of me, especially not the Qunari or the blonde elf that likes to fire arrows at my window pane and litter my desk with rotten vegetables.”

Theodore looks downcast at the floor, his foot toeing at a weed which is poking through the cobbled floor, “I’m sorry, I suppose I didn’t think it through as well as I thought I had.”

Why does Dorian suddenly feel as if he has just kicked a kitten?

“I have a suggestion inquisitor if you’ll hear it?” Cullen pipes up and Theodore looks up, hopeful.

“If we announce that the reason Dorian dining with you is not for his own protection but is a form of punishment, then the Venatori will continue to think that Dorian is here against his will-“

“Well technically I am.” Dorian says, regretting the comment immediately as he receives the most intense death stare he has ever seen from Cullen,

“and, if Josephine works her speech just right, which I’m sure she will, then those who wish Dorian harm will be slightly appeased by thinking that he is being punished.”

Dorian raises one eyebrow and nods slowly, clearly Cullen's tactical prowess in chess translates to real life situations as well; this might actually work. Then again, that doesn't fix the small issue that he would rather dine with the darkspawn in the deeproads than

“Will that work?” Theodore says, his voice hopeful as he glances over to Dorian for some form of agreement, "my inner circle are going to have to meet Dorian eventually so why not over food and drinks."

What does that mean they are going to have to meet him eventually. Dorian had planned on never having to see any of them ever again as he wanted his head to remain attached to his body thank you very much.

“It’s nice that you are so desperate to dine with me, Inquisitor.” Dorian says, not wanting to give a yes or a no answer.

“I’ve told you this already, Dorian. I worry about you and if I can get my inner circle on your side then they will help to protect you.” He says with such an intense look of sincerity that it frightens Dorian a little. What does he mean when he says he worries about him? Why? If anyone should be worrying about anyone, it should be Dorian worrying about how reckless and naïve this man is being. He doesn’t hear a lot from outside the walls of his tower, but he knows that the reputation of the inquisition has suffered from the decision to keep him alive, yet the man continues to make things worse and all in the name of making Dorian's life more bearable. If he were doing it for anyone else, Dorian would have accused him of being blindsinded by love, but that can't be what is going on here. Dorian knows that he can make people fall into his bed easily enough, but falling in love with him? That never happens.

“I think I am going to get back to my duties.” Cullen announces with a small awkward cough and Theodore shifts awkwardly, quickly diverting his eyes from Dorian's own as colour quickly creeps back into his cheeks.

“Yes, erm – I should probably do the same - erm - Dorian, Dagna says she can meet us now, so, if you can uh – follow me.” He stammers quickly and with a squeak of his heels he is gone and Dorian stands with his mouth comically agape as he watches him sprint up the nearby stair case, shaking his head and muttering to himself inaudibly as he goes.

Laughing a little to himself, Dorian turns back to the commander, hoping for some sort of explanation but the commander is not smiling like Dorian is. Instead he stands stiffly, his brows furrowed together as his hand goes instinctively to his belt.

"Is there something I should know, Dorian?" He asks, turning his attention back to Dorian as Theodore finally disappears inside. Usually, Dorian would laugh at the Commander and what he was implying, but the man looked ready to kill so instead Dorian shrugs and stands from his chair to follow Theodore. A hand lands solidly on his shoulder with enough force that Dorian swears he feels his teeth rattle in his skull. For a moment, he thought that he was beginning thaw out Commander Cullen; another game and Dorian might have even taken a risk and called him a friend. Not a good friend, but at least someone who he knew wouldn't spit at him as he passed or assassinate him in his sleep.

“Hurt him," He hears Cullen mutter darkly behind him, "and I will personally lift the sword at your execution.” Dorian doesn’t need to look at the man to know that he is deadly serious.

“You’re the second person to threaten me with that, Commander.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Dorian has his first meal with the inner circle and an unexpected letter makes Theo and Dorian finally discuss the feelings which they keep denying.


	20. Round Table (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had to split this chapter in two because I felt it reads a little nicer if split into two parts. The second part will be posted either tomorrow or at the weekend.

Even though he wasn’t the one stuck with no magic, Theodore can’t help but feel frustrated as they leave the under croft with nothing to show for their hours of work apart from a broken fingernail a few minor burns and depleted mana reserves.

Dagna, bless her heart, had been as helpful as ever. They had spent hours, trying as many things as possible; from using many of the enchanted tools which Dagna owns, many of which Theodore daren’t ask where she got them from, to trying to unwind the enchantment using magic, nothing worked. Now Theodore was not only irritated but also absolutely exhausted.

Dorian had stayed silent throughout which was strangely out of character for the man and hadn’t complained once, even when Dagna accidentally nicked him with her enchanted serrated knife.

They had decided that was probably an indicator to stop experimenting for the day. Dagna had seemed keen to continue but all of them knew that they were unlikely to make any more progress without knowing exactly which enchantment had been used. Dagna said she would order in some books from her old circle saying she remembered reading an old tome that spoke of an old Tevinter spell known as a loyalty blood bind.

Dorian had gone pale at this suggestion as Dagna turned to him, asking whether he had seen or heard of the enchantment back home in Tevinter. Dorian had refused to meet their eyes as he explained how some magisters and friends of his father had used enchanted collars on any of their slaves who had refused to be submissive and loyal. The collar couldn’t be removed by anyone who wasn’t loyal to the magister and was often enchanted further to prevent speech or magic. Theodore had felt a stone settle in his stomach as Dorian continued to speak and, when he finished, neither Dagna nor Theodore could think of anything to say. He had heard horror stories about Tevinter, but this one was really the cherry on top of the corrupted rotten pie. Not only that, but the more he went into detail about the perimeters and effects of the spell, the more obvious it became that they weren’t going to remove the enchantment with their simple tools or spells.

They left with nothing more than an optimistic promise from Dagna that she would find some sort of loophole once she got ahold of the tomes. But even Dagna, with her unbreakable optimistic attitude, had seemed a little down heartened at the suggestion, even going as far as giving Dorian a hug, albeit an awkward one, before the two of them left the undercroft.

-+-

They walked in silence as Theodore led Dorian up the narrow staircase that led to the dining room. He could already hear the familiar chatter of his inner circle as they got to the top of the stairs, and the warm glow of a lit fire is visible through the gap underneath the door.

Theodore sighs and gives Dorian a tight smile before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

“It’s Quizz- Hey! What’s he doing here?” The usual loud chatter and shouting dies down instantaneously as the table of six turns to face Theodore and Dorian, who is lingering as much as he can in Theodore’s shadow.

Bull is the first to respond, his muscles twitching as he moves to stand but Varric quickly stops him with a hand on his chest. There is a flash of an arrow and Theodore has a shield at his fingertips but Varric, once again a saviour, slams his hand against the table, managing to catch the fletch of the arrow held in Sera’s hand.

Theodore takes a breath, his eyes quickly scanning the rest of the group but luckily, other than the odd frown or scowl, there is very little reaction.

He waits for Bull to sit back down and for Sera to release her arrow before he moves to the side and gestures towards Dorian who is looking at them all with a slight smile.

“Everyone, this is Dorian. Dorian, this is everyone.” Theodore says, giving Dorian an encouraging nudge forward. Dorian walks forwards confidently, his chest puffed out and Theodore can feel the room bristle as he takes a seat at the table. If only Solas were here, he knows that Solas and Dorian have been talking and are generally civil with one another, but the elf doesn’t like communal meals and prefers to take his in private.

“We know his name, arse. Why is he here?” Sera says, crossing her arms in front of her chest after failing to pry her arrow free from Varric’s grasp once again.

These people may be his best friends and most trusted allies, but that didn’t mean that they will follow everything he says without question, but that is one of the things he likes about them; they aren’t afraid to tell him when he is doing something wrong.

“Now, now, buttercup,” Varric says, patting her arm as the elf huffs at him, a strand of her jaggedly cut hair blowing up, “let the inquisitor speak before firing arrows blindly.”

“I wouldn’t be firing blindly if I was aiming at magey quiff head over there.” She retorts with a pout, stabbing her finger in Dorian’s direction and Theodore watches Dorians snigger silently and Theodore prays that the man will hold his tongue. Sera, while lovely if on your side, is a force to be reckoned with if she decides she doesn’t like you and, even without his Venatori background, Dorian is practically the epitome of everything that Sera doesn’t like.

Varric looks across the table towards Theodore in exasperation, “an explanation would be great just about now, glowstick.” He says as Bull on his other side begins to grumble something about always keeping a spare dagger in his boot.

“Yes, inquisitor, a little forewarning would have been greatly appreciated.” Cassandra adds placing her cutlery down gently so that she can lean back in her chair, her face a picture of disapproval.

“I have to agree with our seeker here,” Vivienne adds from beside Cassandra, “this is not your brightest move, darling.” Theodore bristles at her tone, hating how she still manages to make him feel like a scolded apprentice with the way she says ‘darling’ but nevertheless nods in agreement.

Looking at the situation in retrospect, he probably should have given Dorian a day or two before his first meal with the group and this would also have given him time to fill them all in on the whole Dorian situation.

“He’s hurting.” A soft voice pipes up and Dorian swears loudly in Tevene as Cole appears on the table beside him, his legs swinging beneath him as he watches Dorian from below the rim of his hat.

“Oh, don’t let the demon get involved! He’ll probably team up with Vaintory shit over there and magic us all!” Sera yells, the chair scraping against the floor as she shuffles closer to Bull.

“Hungry and hateful, they want to hurt you; just like home. A man with your eyes held so much pain, so much hope. Love and hate bubbled and boiled into a knot. He wanted an impossible change and now you feel like you’re alone. “I can trust myself”. Is that why you won’t trust him?” The boys stops and tilts his head, his light blue eyes holding Dorian’s own. Dorian looks disturbed, his eyes wide as the spirit leans in, “he wants you to feel at home here, Dorian.”

Theodore freezes as he watches Dorian open and close his mouth. Cole had been talking about him. It’s true, he does want Dorian to feel at home here, but Dorian and the rest of the inner circle don’t need to know that.

“Cole,” Theodore says in warning and Cole turns to face him, startled.

“Why don’t you want him to know?” He says, his face so genuinely concerned that Theodore doesn’t have the heart to yell at him to shut up. “He’s hurting. I just wanted to help.” The boy says, his face twisting as if he is the one in pain as he looks back at Dorian who is staring at his plate as if it holds he answer to the meaning of life.

“Cole, please,” Theodore repeats gently, resting one hand against the spirits arm, “now is not the time.”

Cole flinches and takes a step away and his eyes flick down to Dorian’s wrist.

“But-“

“Look kid,” Varric interrupts, “remember how I said that you shouldn’t try to help people when there is an audience.”

“Yes, Varric?” Cole says, clearly still confused.

“Well, this is an audience.” Varric says, gesturing to the rest of the group and Theodore gives him a grateful smile.

Cole looks around the rest of the room, a little startled as if he didn’t even notice that there had been other people in the room. He then lowers his head and jumps down from the table and lifts his hand.

“Kid,” Varric says, grabbing him gently by the wrist, “remembering helps.” He says and Cole pauses, his fingers twitching in the air before he nods slowly.

He turns towards Dorian and his eyes flicker down towards the bracelet, a frown passing over his face.

 “He’s trapped.” He whispers quietly, turning to face Theodore briefly, his eyes bright with concern before he disappears into thin air.

Silence.

 “Freaky really needs to stop doing that.” Sera says, now back in her seat and stuffing chunks of bread into her mouth at break neck speed.

“So everyone remembers?” Theodore asks and Dorian looks at him questioningly as he sits down in the chair to his left. Of course, Dorian doesn’t know that Cole is a spirit, “that was Cole, he has a habit of making people forget him.”

“Does he do that to everyone?” Dorian asks, clearly very taken back.

“Good, that means he’s finally starting to listen to me.” The dwarf says before taking a proud sip from his goblet.

“Yeh, great, now I can **remember** the fact that he is being freaky. I think I’d rather forget.” Sera mutters to herself.

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly.” Cassandra warns her and she has a point. Cole is only seen when he wants to be seen. That doesn’t mean he isn’t here.

“Well I for one would rather remember that Cole vistited,” Theodore says, beginning to pile food on to his and Dorian’s plates, “Cole may speak in riddles, but all he wants to do is help. Maybe some of you should let him.”

There is a loud eruption of protests, the loudest of course being from Sera who quickly starts pelting Varric with bread rolls as he starts trying to convince her to talk to Cole every once in a while. Bull grunts as he is hit by a backfired piece of bread roll and grabs what remains of the loaf and shoves it into his mouth.

“So, Boss,” Bull yells, putting his hand over Sera’s mouth before she can yell at him, “why **did** you bring the Vint?” All eyes turn to face Theodore and Dorian once again accompanied by a low murmur of agreement and an unintelligible set of noises from Sera who is still muffled by Bull’s hand.

“Well,” Theodore says, straightening in his chair as he faces the group,“Dorian was attacked earlier today by one of the inquisitions own soldiers –“

“I’m surprised it has taken them this long.” Varric adds and the others nod in agreement.

“Many people want him dead -”

“Damn right.” Sera mutters but Theodore chooses to ignore her.

 “-and he is without the means to defend himself. The bracelet on his wrist was forced on him by a member of the Venatori and it prevents him from accessing his magic-”

“Can’t you just take it off?” Blackwall asks and Vivienne rolls her eyes, mirroring exactly how Theodore feels. Blackwall, as lovely and as caring as he is, isn’t the sharpest nail in the crate at times.

“Oi, beardy, stop making stupid suggestions. It’s obviously had magicky stuff done to it. Right?” Sera says, finally freeing herself from Bull’s giant hand.

“It was an honest question,” Blackwall says gruffly and goes back to prodding at his food.

“We tried to take it off.” Theodore admits and they all, including Varric who has so far seemed to be pretty relaxed by Dorian’s presence, begin to yell over one another about how stupid he is and how he is risking the safety of the rest of Skyhold and Theodore can see Dorian shifting uncomfortably next to him as more and more insults and accusations are thrown into the air.

“Quiet!” Theodore yells, standing from the table as his knife and fork clatter onto his plate. The group fall quiet once again. “We went to visit Dagna earlier today and she thinks that it has been enchanted so that only someone loyal to Corypheus can remove it. Apparently she has seen a similar enchantment in wedding bands and – um - collars.”

“Why hasn’t he removed it himself?” Bull asks, his eyes firmly fixed on Dorian.

“Because I am no longer loyal to the Venatori.” Dorian says and Theodore smiles at him. He knows that Dorian hasn’t been loyal to the Venatori for weeks, but to hear it from the man himself, it reaffirmed his belief in both Dorian and himself.

Bull growls at the back of his throat and stands up, knocking over two glasses in the process and Theodore leans across Dorian, managing to catch Bull’s eye in the process.

“You actually believe this bullshit, Boss?” He says through his teeth.

“Iron Bull,” Theodore says as calmly as he can manage and he shoves his hand under the table as the anchor begins to flicker and tug painfully. “Need I remind you that Dorian saved our lives back at the Winter Palace. You are Ben-Hassrath, if you weren’t so blinded by your hatred for ‘vints’ then you would be able to tell that he isn’t here to harm any of us.”

Iron Bulls eyes flicker over to Dorian again and this time Dorian holds his gaze and the phrase an unstoppable force meets an immovable object suddenly springs to mind.

“I don’t like it.” The Qunari mutters after a long drawn-out pause and the others murmur in agreement once again.

“I am not forcing you to be here, Bull.” Theodore says shortly and Dorian looks back at him shocked. He had hoped that his group of friends would at least try to be civil; apparently he was wrong.

Bull grunts and pushes his chair into the table and walks heavily towards the door.

“Boss, I trust you, but I’m not the one who is being blind.” He says darkly before ducking out of the door leaving the rest of the group to pick awkwardly at their food in the silence that follows.

Another chair scrapes on the floor and Sera jumps up and makes her way to the door, “I like you too, quizzie, but I don’t like it when your with him. You get all angry and … your just not you.” She says and quickly leaves.

He can see all of the others are itching to leave and Theodore isn’t surprised when Varric gives the excuse that he should check on Cole and asks Vivienne to come with him for ‘magical assistance’. Barely a breath later Blackwall and Cassandra give the excuse that they are going to go and spar and leave on the heels of Varric and Vivienne and suddenly the room is empty.

“That was – interesting.” Dorian says finally and Theodore watches him carefully, his chest tight as he picks at the remaining crumbs left over from his bread roll.

“I’m sorry.” Theodore says, keeping his eyes downturned, “I knew they’d be difficult but – I didn’t think that they’d – I should have told them that you were coming.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Dorian says, shrugging his shoulders as he takes another sip of wine. He’s acting so nonchalant and so uncaring; how does he do it? If Theodore had gone through that he would be crying into his drink by now. He desperately wants his inner circle to, not necessarily like Dorian, but at least make some progress with him.

Theodore grabs his goblet and promptly downs the rest of its contents, sighing as he feels the gentle burn of alcohol reach his stomach. He looks up to see Dorian watching him with a raised eyebrow and promptly slams his goblet on the table.

“It was a bad idea introducing me to your friends in such an informal setting, if at all.” Theodore flinches at the tone of distaste that colours Dorian’s words as the man starts to swirl his goblet in one hand. 

“These people are like my family, and I want them to like you.” He says and he feels his ears begin to burn as Dorian falters in swirling his goblet, shock and, dare Theodore say, hope flashes across the man’s face before he quickly alters it into his signature smirk.

“You sound like someone who is introducing a prospective lover to their parents,” Dorian says quickly taking another sip before starting up again in a ridiculously high voice, “oh I do hope mummy and daddy can look past the fact that my lover is everything that they hate and that they tried to kill them, and then we can all laugh and eat cake and drink wine together and we will all live happily ever after.”

Theodore laughs nervously. He knows that the man is just deflecting, but his heart begins to pound anyway as the thought of Dorian being his lover flickers across his mind.

“My parents would have probably been even less welcoming, not that you will have to ever worry about meeting my parents.” Theodore says and this time it is Dorian’s turn to laugh nervously.

Theodore makes an instinctive grab for the wine bottle in the middle of the table but Dorian whips it out from under his grasp, Theodore’s fingertips just managing to lightly graze the back of his hand. There is a moment of silence as both men stare at each other and the wine bottle.

“You don’t mind do you?” Dorian asks, pausing with his fingers over the cork. Theodore shakes his head and Dorian nods appreciatively and uncorks the bottle with a skill that indicates experience.

He holds his hand out for Theodore’s own glass and promptly fills both glasses to the brim and then takes a good few gulps from his own glass before sliding the other one back to Theodore.

“Parents are a touchy subject for you as well then?” Theodore asks tentatively as he pulls the goblet towards himself and takes a small sip.

“Who in this world doesn’t have an issue or two with their parents?” Dorian says, clearly trying to brush it off as nothing. Theodore would know; he does the same thing.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” Theodore says and takes another deep swig of his drink. He knows that if he wants to find out more about Dorian then he will have to reveal things about himself so the sooner the buzz of the wine sets in the better.

“First a nice little delve into my psyche from your hat-wearing friend, and now an interrogation about my family. What a lovely evening this has shaped up to be.” Dorian says, but his tone is gentle as he smiles at Theodore. “If you must know, I didn’t settle down and marry the girl.”

“Oh?” Theodore responds a little disappointed. He had thought that it would be something more.

Dorian looks up at him and nods slowly, “You Trevelyan’s are a noble blood line aren’t you?” Theodore nods, swallowing back the comment about him technically no longer belonging to the Trevelyan line. “Are you telling me that your parents didn’t have a lovely little wife lined up for you?” Dorian asks with a small laugh, “I would have thought that you would have had women falling over themselves.”

“Ha!” Theodore says loudly, the laugh falling short and false from his mouth, “not quite falling over themselves. I was a bit of an ugly child. My eyes were too big for my head – my nickname was buggy around the village - and there aren’t many people who can say that they fancy a boy with messy white hair.”

“Now that I cannot believe.” Dorian chuckles, probably trying to picture what Theodore had looked like when he was younger. “I know that younger me would have gone thick tongued around a man like you. So what was her name? Mine was Livia Herathinos. Intelligent girl with an hourglass figure and a wit that could cut a man in two.”

“Thea Petardor, third daughter of Bann Petardor,” Theodore says with a chuckle of his own as he remembers the chubby little blonde girl who visited with her family up to five times every year. “She was short, blonde, and apparently extremely in love with me.”

“How come it didn’t work out?” Dorian asks but by the gleeful grin on his face he already knows the answer.

“I preferred her brother.” Theodore says simply and watches Dorian over the rim of his goblet as he takes another deep sip and he thinks he sees the other man smile. Or rather he hopes that that was a smile and not a grimace. “And yourself?”

“Well, unfortunately Livia didn’t have a brother, but the family did have a rather attractive stable boy.”

“You ran off with the stable boy, how scandalous.” Theodore says with a loud laugh and Dorian puts his head in his hands, shaking his head with a mischievous smile on his face.

“I would have if my mother hadn’t caught me and pulled me home by my ear. I was on house arrest for the remainder of their visit.”

“House arrest?”

“Of course! Maker forbid that any tales of the scion of house Pavus was seen kissing a boy got out.”

“Your parents didn’t like the fact that you liked men?”

“Did yours?” His answer was short and even though he didn’t answer the question, Theodore felt that he already knew the answer. Clearly the North and South have different opinions on just about everything.

“I like both men and women,” Theodore says, choosing to ignore the way Dorian raises an eyebrow, “they always assumed that I would find a girl and settle down, so they didn’t really care. The fact that I am a mage is obviously much harder to handle.”

“Of course. I forgot that the South is barbaric when it comes to its treatment of those with magic. Where I come from families pray that their son or their son’s son will be a mage, but here, they cage you and throw away the key!” Dorian says his voice slowly rising in volume and Theodore is surprised at just how angry the man has become. Sure, the circle hadn’t been the most enjoyable experience, but Ostwick circle certainly hadn’t felt like a cage. Yes, Templars watched you’re every move and often the sounds of their armour clinking as they moved past the dormitory door every 10 minutes would keep you up at night. But they let you practice and study magic in a place where people wouldn’t look at you in fear or horror. You were among others who had the same ‘affliction’ as you and it felt much more free than the pressure of noble society.

“Tevinter isn’t perfect either, Dorian.” Theodore says, suddenly feeling extremely defensive.

“Oh, I am aware. Why do you think I left?”

“You never told me why you left.”

“Indeed, and I’m still not going to,” He says and Theodore huffs into his drink “All I’m going to tell you is that I had to leave Tevinter, and Alexius gave me the incentive to do so.”

“Oh?” Whatever had caused Dorian to want to leave Tevinter had clearly been dire if he had been sucked into whatever lies Alexius had believed.

“Alexius joined the Venatori to help his son. He knew that I wanted things to change in Tevinter and he told me that the Venatori stood for change. Unfortunately,” He says, his eyes now firmly fixed on the fire flickering in the hearth, “it took me a painfully long time to realise that they want to revert, not reshape.”

“You are saying that even after meeting the red-lyrium-riddled-wannabe-god, you still didn’t realise that the Venatori were bad?” Theodore says with a snigger.

“Yes, a massive lack in judgement on my own part I admit.” Dorian says, looking at Theodore with a thoroughly unamused expression.

“He is literally made of Red Lyrium, Dorian! Corrupted Lyrium!” Theodore says and Dorian glares at him over the rim of his glass as he takes another deep swig.

“Villains are often heroes in their own eyes, Inquisitor. Corypheus is so convinced that he is doing the right thing that he has recruited hundreds into his rank with false promises. For me, the promise of change was enough, even if I didn’t know what it was he wanted to change.”

Dorian drinks deeply again, draining his glass. “Refill?” He asks and Theodore shakes his head as he takes another sip from his still half-full goblet.

“So, the fact that you were a mage was the only issue your parents had with you?” Dorian says, emptying the remainder of the bottle into his glass. He knows he should probably stop Dorian from drinking anymore, but who is Theodore to judge, thinking of his parents has given him the sudden urge to grab the remaining bottle which remains unopened in the middle of the table and down it in one gulp. Theodore chooses instead to down the remainder of his goblet before grabbing the final bottle. The loud pop of the cork bounces off of the walls and Theodore can feel Dorian’s eyes on him as he refills his glass.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Dorian says, his voice the gentlest Theodore has ever heard it.

“No it’s fine,” Theodore says. It isn’t fine and Theodore can already feel old wounds reopening, but he continues anyway. “Yes, the only issue my parents have with me is that I am a mage, but here the issue of being a mage is a pretty big issue.” His voice breaks a little and he feels gentle fingers wrap around his clenched fists which he hadn’t realised is wrapped tightly around the handle of his fork. He looks up to see Dorian watching him, sympathy knotted in his brow. “My mother was the first to find out.” Theodore says with a wet chuckle as the threat of tears sting the backs of his eyes.

“What did you do?” Dorian asks.

“I froze my own bath water.” Theodore says and Dorian laughs loudly.

“I’m sorry,” He says, quickly covering his mouth with his free hand, “it’s just that the magic manifestation stories I usually hear involve setting something on fire or accidentally bringing the family pet back to life. But that one is glorious!” He says, continuing to laugh and Theodore finds himself joining in. Back in the circle, sharing stories about how your magic manifested was often a sorrowful event. This is nice.

“So your mother found you frozen in a block of your own bathwater?” Dorian asks.

“Yes. I tried to convince her that I had fallen asleep and the bathwater had frozen because of a nearby open window. But it was the middle of summer so she didn’t believe me.” Dorian gently squeezes his hand as his voice catches in the back of his throat again and Theodore gives him a grateful smile. “I thought she might try and hide my magic like other families often do, but instead she ran out of the door screaming for my brother to fetch a Templar. One moment I was a beloved son the next –“ His voice broke completely. He doesn’t want to finish the story. He doesn’t want to relive the way she had screamed at him that he was a demon and that he needed to give her back her son. He doesn’t want to relive the way his father hadn’t even been able to look at him as the Templars had dragged him away kicking and screaming and he certainly doesn’t want to revisit the words he caught his mother say to the head Templar as the others began to push him out of the house, his system heavy and weak from what he would soon come to know as a smite.

‘ _Call him by any name other than Trevelyan, I don’t want the world knowing that we have a mage in the family’._

Theodore shakes his head and gives Dorian a weak smile, “You know, I think this is the longest you have ever gone without making some sort of overly suggestive comment.”

“I’m going to ignore that poor attempt at a segue,” Dorian says with a loud laugh, “and relish in the fact that you are clearly missing my flirtatious advances, inquisitor.” he says, playfully waggling his eyebrows and Theodore rolls his eyes.

“I was simply worried that a demon had possessed you or something.”

“Believe it or not, Theodore, I am entirely capable of having a serious conversation when the situation requires it,” he says, “I have been trained from birth to pick up on social cues and, no matter how much I despise them, I do still maintain the social etiquettes of higher society.”

There is a loud knock on the door and both men jump and Theodore quickly withdraws his hand from Dorians. Casting a cautious glance in Dorian’s direction, he gets up and moves towards the door.

“Inquisitor,” the gentle cadence of Mother Giselle greets him as the door swings open and he catches sight of Dorian sinking lower into his chair out of the corner of his eyes as the woman attempts to push past him into the room.

“Good evening Mother Giselle,” Theodore says subtly blocking her as he leans as nonchalantly as possible against the doorway trying to obscure her view. Too late. He watches the women’s eyes slide past him and widen as they land on Dorian. Theodore holds back a sigh as he notes the way she clutches even tighter onto a letter in her hands, the paper crinkling slightly beneath her fingertips.

“May I have a word inquisitor – in private.” She says not even bothering to hide her pointed glance past him.

“Did Bull or Cassandra send you?” Theodore says, crossing his arms as the mother shifts awkwardly.

“I have not spoken to the Iron Bull, nor has Lady Cassandra sent me,” Mother Giselle replies smoothly, “but this matter is rather urgent and I cannot speak of it publicly.”

Dorian sighs dramatically, “Don’t worry about me, Theodore. I will just be sitting here, drinking and contaminating the room with my sins.” Dorian says and Theodore has to bite his tongue against a chuckle as he sees Mother Giselle bristle underneath her chantry hood.

Theodore closes the door without another word, praying secretly that this won’t take long as he follows the disturbed Mother who keeps casting anxious glances behind her as if to check that Dorian hasn’t followed them. She stops when they reach the end of the corridor, turning sharply on the spot before thrusting a thick envelope into his hands.

Theodore turns the envelope over in his hands to see the name _Mother Giselle_ scrawled in looping handwriting across the front. He looks up at her in confusion. Why would she hand him a letter which is addressed to her?

“I have news regarding your new … companion.” She says, the skin on her nose wrinkling in disgust as she says the final word. She has never even met Dorian and she is already speaking about him as if he is a speck of dirt on her Chantry-issued shoes.

“I don’t appreciate your tone Mother Giselle.” Theodore says sharply.

“I – I didn’t mean - I apologise inquisitor. I won’t deny that his presence here makes me uncomfortable, but my opinion of him is not why I am here.” She says gesturing towards the letter in Theodore’s hand.

“What is it?”

“I have been in contact with his family. You are aware of the House of Pavus out of Qarinus, correct?”

“I have heard of them, if that is what you mean?” Theodore says.

“I was just curious whether you had managed to look into his – er – situation during your research,” She says, wringing her hands. Theodore shakes his head, he thought that it wasn’t his place to pry, clearly Mother Giselle thinks differently. “The family sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleaded for my aid. They asked me to arrange a meeting between them and their son, quietly and without telling him. I thought that because you –“

“You would arrange a meeting between Dorian and his family without telling him?” Theodore interrupts, barely managing to keep his voice steady as anger begins to boil below the surface. She knows little to nothing about Dorian’s reasons for leaving his family, yet she would force him unknowingly into a confrontation. What if it is a trap?

“They feel that he would not come if he knew. They are happy that he is no longer with the Ventatori, and they appreciate the inquisition for their involvement in this, but they want him to come home.”

“Why would his family contact you?” Theodore asks narrowing his eyes at the woman. Something about this whole situation still rings false somehow.

“Because they know that I represent peace and unity through my position in the chantry, and they know of my strong connections with the inquisition. Despite the young man’s past, I feel like everyone deserves a chance at redemption and reconciliation with their loved ones.”

Theodore nods, as much as he wants to hate Mother Giselle for her intrusion, he knows that she wants what is best. Who is he to deny Dorian the chance to reconcile with his family because, even with the way they had treated him and the fact that they denounced him as a Trevelyan, Theodore would give an arm or a leg to reconcile with his own.

“I – I will see what I can do.”

Mother Giselle smiles, “I shall pray for your success and get into contact when I hear from the family retainer.”

Theodore gives her an unsure smile and she bows her head before turning on her heel, leaving Theodore alone in the corridor clutching the letter in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taking me so long but I have been working on other projects over summer and, because it is just me writing this, I have had to place this on the backburner. Thank you to everyone who is reading this little story of mine, I really do appreciate it. 
> 
> Much love  
> Zingymabob  
> xxxxx


	21. Papercut

“I was thinking,” Dorian announces as Theodore re-enters the room, the letter weighing heavy in the left pocket of his jacket, “if what Dagna says is right, and this ridiculous wristband can only be removed by someone who is loyal to Corypheus, then surely you can force one of the loyalists you have captured to remove it?”

Theodore doesn’t reply, fiddling the corner of the envelope which has begun to fray under his fingertips.

“You do have a prisoner or two who is still loyal to Corypheus?” Dorian says, swivelling slightly in his chair.

“Dorian,” Theodore says, his voice quiet as he moves to take the seat beside Dorian. The man looks at him confused and Theodore feels it’s probably best to get straight to the point and places the letter on the table in front of them.

“Is this an answer?” Dorian asks, not even bothering to look at the letter.

“Just read it.” Theodore says, his voice getting even quieter.

Dorian sighs and glances down at the letter and it is as if a bolt of electricity passes through him as he straightens in his seat, every muscle visibly tensing as he grabs at the letter.

“What is - this – this is in my father’s handwriting,” he says and quickly spins the letter over to look at the broken seal, “This is the Pavus seal. What have you done?” Dorian says in a horrified whisper and he quickly shifts away from Theodore.

“It wasn’t me,” Theodore says as Dorian removes the parchment from the envelope and begins to read, “Mother Giselle, well she means well, but she often sticks her nose where it isn’t wanted.”

Dorian doesn’t reply, his eyes still devouring the words on the page with his lip curled up in a slight snarl. Finally, after what seems like hours but is likely less than a minute, he scoffs and scrunches the paper up in his fist and pushes himself up from his chair scraping harshly against the stone floor.

Theodore holds an arm out to try and steady the man who almost falls face first into the table but Dorian shrugs him off and strolls over to the fire with purpose, throwing the scrunched up parchment into it with enough force to send burning ashes flying into the air like a nest of disturbed fireflies.

“Well you can tell this Mother Giselle,” He spits, his voice only slightly slurred as he makes his way back to his chair, “that if she ever tries to meddle in my business again then I will tie her to a flagpole from her chantry robes so that the crows can have their way with her.”

Theodore swallows back the fact that he knows that the letter was an attempt at reconciliation and gestures for Dorian to sit back down. Dorian will tell him if he wants to.

“Do you want me to fetch another bottle of wine?” Theodore offers as Dorian lands heavily into the chair beside him. More alcohol probably isn’t the best solution right now, but it is the only one he can think of.

“That would be lovely.” Dorian says with a sigh and Theodore moves over to the cabinet and takes out another bottle, this one considerably cheaper than the first two, before sitting back down beside Dorian who has slumped over the table. All of his earlier cheeriness and energy seems to have drained from him and the room is silent as Theodore fills their goblets once again.

“So,” Theodore says “your family weren’t happy that you preferred the company of men?” He doesn’t want to dig into something which the man clearly wants to keep buried, but if his family truly do want to reconcile, then he can’t just let Dorian pass up this opportunity.

“That statement could win understatement of the year along with ‘oh the Venatori can’t be that bad’!” Dorian says in a high mocking voice as he sends Theodore a sharp sideways glance.

“Is that –“ Theodore says tentatively, his common sense is screaming at him to leave the subject be but his need to know wins, “is that why you left?”

“Is that why I left Tevinter? I didn’t leave just because they didn’t like my choice in partners if that is what you are asking. There was more to it; I’m not that petty.” Dorian replies shortly, taking what can only be described as an angry gulp of his wine.

“That’s not what I-”

“In Tevinter, every family is intermarrying to distil the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader. Every deviation – every aberration – is something to be ashamed of, so it must be concealed or destroyed before it can taint the family’s reputation.” Dorian says, his voice slurring, each word infused with an intense amount of anger and bitterness.

“What are you saying?” Theodore asks, already scared of what the answer is going to be. He had heard of some families hiring specialists who were known to ‘treat’ same-sex preferences, had Dorian’s parents done that?

“They had big dreams for me; Father even spoke of me becoming Archon, but I failed him. I’m not what he wanted, so he just -” His voice falters in the back of his throat and Theodore can almost see the barriers come down as he closes his mouth, clearly hoping that a flourish of his hand will finish his sentence.

“There is nothing wrong with being with another man, Dorian.” Theodore says, wanting to reach out and take Dorian’s hand like Dorian had done earlier.

“I know that.” Dorian says softly, his eyes now fixated on the fireplace, “Me preferring men was never the problem; there are likely several within the magisterium with similar preferences to my own. No, the issue was that I wouldn’t put on a show, marry the girl, keep my dirty little secrets private and locked away in a box to never see the light of day.”

“I understand.” Theodore says softly, not realising that he has said it out loud until Dorian scoffs loudly.

Theodore nods, “You couldn’t live a lie.” His and Dorian’s situations may be different, but the feeling of living a lie is not. He had tried for months after he had been taken by the Templars to pretend that he wasn’t a mage; he refused to participate in any of his lessons and would poke himself hard with something sharp if he ever felt his mana begin to surge. The more the weeks went by the harder he had to poke, and some days it would get so bad that he would hide inside of a cupboard as small streams of blood trickled from his arms and gathered into small pools at his feet. Living a lie isn’t healthy, and it always hurts more than it helps.

“I couldn’t live a lie,” Dorian repeats, nodding slowly as his eyes meet Theodore’s, “I didn’t want to live my life screaming on the inside. It’s a little Selfish, I suppose.”

“No,” Theodore says, grabbing Dorian’s hand before he can turn away again, “wanting to be who you are is not selfish.”

“Oh, why are you such a pure and innocent soul?” Dorian replies lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles, “they would eat you alive back in Tevinter.”

“Probably,” Theodore says with a small smile, “I would certainly need help if I was ever required to visit.”

“Then consider this my formal application to be your guard and your guide when it comes to all things Tevinter.” Dorian says, withdrawing his hand from Theodore’s and holds it out in front of him. Theodore takes his hand into a firm handshake and both men chuckle a little at the absurdity of it all.

“Am I to assume that you have already read the letter?” Dorian asks as they both turn back to their drinks. Theodore would have expected this sort of accusation to be angry or accusatory, but it isn’t, it is just sad.

“No. But Mother Giselle told me the basics.” Theodore admits. “So, are you going to –“

“Am I going to go?” Dorian cuts in, his eyes scanning Theodore’s face.

There is a long beat of silence, grey eyes meeting gold as they search each other, afraid that they are misplacing a feeling of trust that they never thought they could produce.

“No. I’m not going to go.” He says as if he had made up his mind before the question was even asked.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. If my family wants to ‘reconcile’ as they so put it, then they will have to come here themselves. Unless –“ He pauses narrowing his eyes as he looks back at Theodore, “I suppose my family dragging me back to Tevinter is the perfect way to be rid of me once and for all.”

Theodore looks at him confused, “You think that I planned this in order to get rid of you?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone has contacted my parents so that they could wash their hands of me.” Dorian replies with a shrug.

Theodore looks at Dorian long and hard. Is this really what Dorian thinks, that he wants to be rid of him as soon as possible? If anything he is worried that in letting Dorian meet with the retainer that it would result in exactly that.

“I don’t want to be rid of you, Dorian.” Theodore says and Dorian chuckles.

“Of course not. Who would want to be deprived of my presence?” He jokes, but the joke falls flat.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“So why, if you didn’t want to get rid of me, did you show me the letter?”

“I thought – well – I thought that you might – I know that if I – If my parents sent me a letter –“ Why is this so difficult to explain, Theodore thinks in frustration as he continues to stammer.

“If your parents wanted to meet you, you would want to meet with them, yes?” Dorian asks patiently and Theodore nods.

“I want them to be proud of me.” Theodore says quietly, “is that stupid of me? After all this time, I want my parents to finally see that me being a mage doesn’t mean that they should be ashamed of me. I thought that when they heard news of my title as inquisitor that they would come back and beg for my forgiveness. Obviously even if they did try and contact me now it would probably be so that they could boast about their connection to me and not out of genuine care. But – I don’t know – I just want a chance to talk to them again.”

“It’s not stupid. As much as I want to hate my father, deep down I am still the little boy who wants to make him proud.” Dorian says, staring forward silently, “but you never heard me say that.”

“Heard you say what?” Theodore replies with a small smile and Dorian chuckles, the sound warm once again.

“And as far as your parents being proud of you, I know I may not be the most qualified person to comment, but I’ll throw my coin onto the pile.” He clears his throat in typical dramatic Dorian style and turns to face Theodore, leaning forward in his chair so that his face is inches away. “I think you make an incredible inquisitor. You could have killed me up in the mountains, but you didn’t, and you could have killed me multiple times at the Winter Palace, but you didn’t. At first I thought it was stupidity, but now I know that it was your good hearted and headstrong nature that kept me alive, and those are two features which all leaders should aspire to have. I have not met or even heard of a man or woman more suited for the title of inquisitor or saviour of Thedas than you, and they are fools if they aren’t proud of you.” Dorian says, his voice sincere and steady, without even a hint of his usual sarcasm and the words strike Theodore right at the core.

No one has ever told him that he is a good inquisitor before. Well, maybe they have, but the people who say that always have some sort of ulterior motive, like status or politics, which makes their compliment fall a little flat.

“I should stop before I say anything syrupier than that, otherwise we will both be dead of a sugar overdose within the hour.” Dorian says with a dismissive chuckle. “In fact I-“

But Theodore doesn’t let him finish that sentence, his hands moving instinctively to grab at the front of Dorian’s shirt and before his mind can catch up with him, he pulls Dorian in for a kiss.

Time freezes as the first contact is made and Theodore feels all of the air leave his lungs. The kiss is soft and desperate at the same time, and his lips are rough and unsure as he presses himself against Dorian. His fingertips skim over the edge of the man’s shirt to ghost over his collarbone and he feels Dorian shiver against him and it isn’t until the man pulls away as if he has been stung, that Theodore’s brain finally kicks back into gear.

He just kissed Dorian! Oh no.

He watches, his heart pounding in panic as Dorian stares back at him dumbfounded as he lifts a hand to his mouth, letting a finger ghost over his lips. Theodore pulls his hand away from where it had been clasping at the collar of his shirt, the feeling of mortification flushing his entire body as Dorian continues to stare at him with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Theodore stammers as he starts to push himself out of his chair, “I thought – I don’t know – I was clearly reading into something that wasn’t-“ Theodore starts, but this time it is Dorian’s turn to cut him off as Dorian pulls him back in, his hands cupping the sides of his face gently as he kisses him.  

Theodore smiles into the kiss as he feels Dorian respond eagerly, the movement of his lips against Theodore’s expressing more of his hope, fear and relief than words ever could. Dorian winds his fingers into Theodore’s hair and gives a gentle tug, pulling himself even closer. Fingers ghost across the fine hairs at the back of his neck and he moans softly and Dorian responds, the kiss deepening as both men become intoxicated with one another.

 How has it taken a kiss to make him realise just how long he has wanted this. Whatever this is he doesn’t know, but one thing he does know is that he wants this to last forever.

They break away from one another and Theodore looks at Dorian a wide grin on his face and chuckles softly as he takes in the mages dishevelled appearance.

“Your moustache,” he says softly, moving his hand to gently cup Dorian’s face as he smooths down Dorian’s moustache with his thumb.

Dorian smiles back at him nervously, suddenly so far from the flashy exterior that he had presented the first time they met.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Dorian says still slightly breathless.

“I disagree.” Theodore responds, struggling to ignore the way his heart still pounds in his ears or the way that Dorian’s arms are around his waist, his thumbs drawing lazy circles onto his lower back.

“I see you like playing with fire inquisitor.” Dorian says, the smell of wine hot on his breath as he whispers.

“Fire and ice,” Theodore says in amusement as he laces their fingers together, letting a small burst of frost escape from the tips of his fingers and he smirks as Dorian struggles to hide a small shiver.

“Fire has a tendency to destroy ice, my dear Trevelyan.” Dorian replies, not missing a beat.

“Destroy isn’t the word I would choose.”

“Oh?” Dorian asks, raising an eyebrow.

Theodore smiles again, wrapping Dorian’s hand in his, “Ice melts when it touches fire.”

Dorian smirks and leans into Theodore, his breath hot against his cheek as he whispers into his ear, “and do I make you melt, Theodore?” His voice is low and this time it is Theodore’s turn to shiver.

Dorian pulls back a little with an arrogant smirk and Theodore feels the loss immediately and instinctively moves to follow him, letting a hand graze the back of Dorian’s as the man reaches for his goblet.  Dorian chuckles to himself and he quirks his lip before taking a small sip. He clearly knows how to torment a man and Theodore doesn’t know what he wants to do more, drag him in for another kiss so that he can taste him once again or hit him for being such an agonising tease.

He decides on the former and grabs Dorian by the arm, pulling the man flush up against him

and leans in. Dorian winds his fingers into the back of Theodore’s hair, his nails gently scratching at his scalp and their lips are a hair's breadth away from touching, the electricity between them building and filling the air as they breathe each other in.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The electricity vanishes like a flash of lightning and Dorian sighs, his frustration clear as he pulls away.

“That is probably your dear Chantry Mother. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has some sort of alert system which allows her to sense any kind of scandalous liaison.” His voice is intimate and low on the last word and Theodore glances up to be met by Dorian’s heated gaze, the glint in his eyes bringing a silent promise of more that makes Theodore’s skin tingle.

How has it taken him this long to realise that he is deeply attracted to this beautiful enigma of a man. Dorian is right however, it won’t just be Mother Giselle who will be opposed to them, from the frosty reception at the meal Theodore knows that it won’t go down very well with the anyone, even his closest friends, if they ever find out.

There is another knock, this one much louder and more urgent.

“At least she has the common decency to knock.”

Theodore sighs and makes his way towards the door straightening his shirt and hair a little, preparing for a scolding from the soft-voiced chantry mother. But it isn’t Mother Giselle. Instead, he is met by a very nervous looking messenger, whose hands are fiddling nervously at the clasp of their board.

“Ser, Leliana requests your presence in the war room. Apparently, there is news of Corypheus’ army being spotted in the –“ The messenger stops as his eyes skim past Theodore and into the room. His eyes widen as he sees Dorian and he swallows the rest of the sentence.

“Venatori movement in the - ?” Theodore encourages. The messenger’s unease is understandable. The chatter within Skyhold doesn’t exactly favour Dorian, and most people still believe that he is a Venatori spy sent to report on the inquisitions tactics.

The messenger swallows thickly and diverts his eyes down to his clipboard.

“In the Arbour Wilds, Ser.”

Theodore looks at the messenger with his eyebrows drawn together in thought. What would Corypheus be doing in the Arbour Wilds?

“Thank you. You can tell them that I will be right down.”

The messenger nods and quickly retreats down the hall.

“The Arbour Wilds?” Dorian pipes up from behind him and Theodore spins around quickly. Does Dorian know something about Corypheus’ plans?

“Yes. Why, do you know something?” Theodore says, trying to remain relatively calm. If Dorian can tell them what Corypheus is planning to do then that will give them a massive upper hand. So far their battles have seemed relatively blind and Theodore often finds himself blaming sheer luck during their debriefs. For once they could actually be prepared.

“It rings a bell.” Dorian says, waving dismissively.

“How much of a bell?” Theodore asks.

“Calpernia mentioned it to me when we last spoke,” He says dismissively, “Why? Is it important?”

Theodore frowns at him, the feeling that Dorian withholding information settling deep in his chest. But that name – Calpernia – that name is niggling at the back of his head and he can’t help but feel as if he has heard it before.

“Who’s Calpernia?”

Dorian remains silent.

“Dorian, please, I need to know.”

Dorian sighs and turns to him and Theodore is not ready for the heavy look of sadness that has settled in his eyes.

“She is part of the Venatori. We spoke that day you found me on the mountain via a sending crystal, which, before you accuse me of using it to communicate with the Venatori, I threw away that very same day.”

Theodore winces at his words, does Dorian still believe that he doesn’t trust him?

“And she mentioned the Arbour Wilds?”

Dorian shrugs, “among other things.”

Theodore pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath, “Please, Dorian, I need to know what you know.”

“For all you know, I could be feeding you false information.” Dorian says, standing from the table, his eyes firm as he strolls to stand in front of Theodore, his arms firmly crossed over his chest.

“I don’t believe that you would do that.”

“Stop sweet talking me, Theodore.” Dorian says with an arrogant smile as he moves forwards again, pushing Theodore back until he is backed up against a nearby display case, the china rattling inside as his back slams against the glass.

“Dorian,” Theodore says, his throat bobbing up and down as he feels Dorian press himself against him, “I’m sorry, but I need to know.”

The smile falls from Dorian’s face and he rolls his eyes before sighing and pushing himself off of Theodore, the china rattling in the case once again.

“Apparently there is some form of ancient elven magic in the Arbour Wilds and the last thing I heard was that Calpernia is assigned to become a vessel for some sort of Ancient magic which is going to aid Corypheus. I assume that he is going to bind her, which wouldn’t surprise me seeing as it would be just another point on the checklist on the clichéd evil Tevinter Magister stereotype,” Dorian says wildly gesticulating, “is that all you require from me, inquisitor?” he says, spitting bitterly on the final word, his anger taking Theodore by surprise.

Theodore straightens himself, feeling a little aimless as he watches Dorian down the rest of his wine in one gulp and slams the cup onto the table. What did he say to make Dorian so angry?

“Have I done something wrong, Dorian?”

Dorian scoffs and spins around, “I have been manipulated far too many times in my life that I almost feel ashamed at how easily I let you get to me.” He says and Theodore looks at him, his confusion not lifting in the slightest. “Did you plan it with your little advisors? The meal with your friends planned to perfection to make me feel ostracised just enough that you could cosy up to me.”

“Dorian, what are you –“

“The letter was a stroke of genius by the way? How did you get a hold of the Pavus seal? Then again my father is probably in on the plan.”

Theodore reels backwards. He thinks this was all a plan?

“I suppose you’re just going to send me back to my lonely cell of a room now that you have the information you need?”

Theodore doesn’t know what to do but grabs Dorian by the shoulders before he can continue his angry pacing. Dorian refuses to meet his eyes but it is clear the man is seething.

“I’m not smart enough to think of a plan that elaborate, and I’m certainly not that good of an actor, Dorian.”

Dorian doesn’t say anything and Theodore grabs him firmly and kisses him again and feels relief wash through him as he feels the tension leave Dorian’s body.

Theodore pulls away as another knock at the door sounds.

“Just stay here and trust me when I say that I did not use you.” Theodore says and smiles as Dorian nods slowly.

There is another knock on the door; Leliana is clearly not being patient with him today.

“I’m coming!” Theodore yells, not even bothering to conceal his frustration.

He gives Dorian’s hand one final squeeze, hoping it will be enough to convince him before turning on his heel and following the waiting messenger down to the war room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the lack of an update. The last few months have been... eventful. Life and work has really been stacking up on me over the last few months and so I'm going to have to put this work on a bit of a hiatus. I don't like leaving projects unfinished so I promise that I will return, but, realistically, I don't know how long that will be.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been leaving kudos and comments. I love and appreciate you all and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> I have written a few stories before as I am a creative writing student, but I have never written fan fiction so feedback would be much appreciated.  
> Thanks x


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